


When I Walk Through Your Door

by jonius_belonius (Joni_Beloni)



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mike is not a lawyer, Drama, M/M, Medium Fluffy, Minor Angst, Post-Prison, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 10:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10592460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joni_Beloni/pseuds/jonius_belonius
Summary: After a painful breakup, and a humiliating rejection at a nightclub, an out of shape Harvey joins a new health club.  His personal trainer is Mike, who is five years out of prison, and struggling to keep his head above water and achieve his ambitious goals.  Sparks fly -- of course they do.  But they are both looking for different things.  Will they succeed in working things out?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CowandCalf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CowandCalf/gifts).



> This story was written for cowandcalf, who won me in the Fandom Trumps Hate auction. Thank you again for your generous donation to the Nature Conservancy! Sorry I took so long to finish. I hope this story at least comes close to what you asked for.

The loud, thumping bass was giving Harvey a headache, aided and abetted by frenetically flickering, multi-colored lights bleeding in from the dance floor.  He signaled the bartender, ordering new drinks for himself and the sleek young man seated on the stool next to him.  When their drinks arrived, he touched the other man’s arm, having already forgotten his name.

“My place is just a few blocks from here.”  He had to practically shout in the other man’s ear to be heard over the dance music.

“What?”

“My place.  Want to get out of here?”

The young man turned to face him, seeming to really look at him for the first time.  His gaze traveled up and down Harvey’s body, his mouth crimped in disapproval, and he shook his head.  “No thanks.  I don’t do fatties.”

Harvey’s mouth dropped open.  “Excuse me?  What did you just say to me?”

“No offense.  I appreciate all the drinks.  You’re just not my type.”  A negligent shrug.

Harvey watched him pick up his expensive drink and shimmy his way into the crowd of bodies – young, lithe, perfect bodies.  Harvey grimaced and tossed back his scotch too fast, coughing when it burned the back of his throat.  Clearly this had been a mistake.  Too soon after Matthew.  And far too late as well.  This sort of club was not his scene anymore.

He waved at the bartender again, paid as quickly as he could, and made his escape.

******

Chupie, Harvey’s mini dachshund, was awake when he got home.  He let her out of her kennel in the utility room, and took her outside for a walk, which consisted of her waddling and sniffing her way down the block, and dribbling out perhaps a teaspoon's worth next to a parked car. 

“Good girl,” he acknowledged perfunctorily.

Back upstairs, he kept his mind carefully blank as he got ready for bed.  Wanting to wipe the humiliating incident at the club from his memory, he carried a full glass of scotch to bed with him, and allowed Chupie to dive under the covers and paste herself to his side.  It wasn’t the sort of comfort he’d been seeking tonight, but he supposed he’d have to settle for what he could get.  Between the dog and the scotch, he eventually managed to sleep.

******

They had only been living together for three months when Matthew announced to Harvey that he was (they were) getting a puppy.  Harvey fought him on this, with every ounce of cutthroat, lawyerly skill and deceit he possessed.  When his lover walked through the door with the tiny dachshund puppy, however, and she gazed up at him with melting, chocolate brown eyes, it was game over. 

Harvey made a show of grumbling through the weeks of house training.  He sighed and shook his head whenever she grabbed one of her toys and ran in frantic circles around the living room, squeaking in crazy rhythm (because every single one of her goddamn toys came with a squeaker inside).  But even though Matthew had been the one to bring her home, it was Harvey upon whom she imprinted, and he upon her.  They both fell, hard and fast.

She staked her claim to Harvey's lap, and Harvey's heart, and even when things began to sour with Matthew, his devotion to Chupie never wavered.

Now, Chupie was ten years old, and Matthew was six months gone.  Matthew had left the dog behind, because she clearly belonged to Harvey – and he to her.  She remained one of the rare creatures in his life who had never betrayed or disappointed him. 

Matthew had cheated on him for two whole years before Harvey finally caught on.  It hadn't even been with just one person.  There had been a whole string of men – casual hook-ups, longer relationships lasting a few weeks or months, and finally Keith, the man who pried Matthew right out of Harvey's life, right out of their wedding plans, and took him back to London.

"It's just you and me now," Harvey found himself telling the dog much too often.  He couldn't see inside her dog brain, but it seemed to him she missed Matthew as much as he did, so he spent extra time with her in the evenings, sitting together on the couch, huddling together for comfort.

He began to pay closer attention to things like the grey in her muzzle, her lack of interest in her toys, and her lumpish inactivity.  All she wanted, it seemed, was to sleep near him.  If she'd put on a little weight around the middle, well so had he.  Nothing to be alarmed about.  Age did that to you.  And if he was a little lumpish these days, and prone to inactivity, so what?  He was getting the job done at work, putting in at least as many hours as Louis as they fought to hold the firm together following the departure of their managing partner, Jessica Pearson.

He felt the failures in his own body long before he acknowledged them to himself:  the extra weight that made his knee twinge and kept a nearly permanent scowl on his face; the brief lightheadedness when he climbed the stairs too fast and strove to camouflage his quickened breathing; the heartfelt groans when he got out of bed in the morning; and the visceral aversion to anything requiring more than minimal effort.

He’d ignored it all, pretended it wasn’t happening.  That night at the dance club, however, his failures had smacked him right in the face – or more accurately, right in his fleshy middle. 

******

Monday morning, Harvey climbed into the trousers of his favorite grey suit, and struggled for a good twenty seconds to get the zipper closed and the button done up.  Staring into the mirror at himself, he took a long look at the soft belly that rested over the top of the pants.  When he slid into the jacket, he noticed how badly it hung when he buttoned it closed.  He wouldn’t go as far as to call himself a “fatty.”  That had been wholly uncalled for.  Still, he had put on a few pounds since Matthew left him. 

It had been such a gradual thing, he realized, that he had been able to ignore the creeping weight gain.  It was his own fault.  He hadn’t put on his boxing gloves or gotten into the ring for over a year.  He’d stopped running last fall, thinking he’d get back to it in the spring, but here it was, fall again, and his running shoes were still gathering dust in his closet.

As he carefully adjusted the knot in his tie, he made plans to find a new gym.  He’d have Donna give him the names and addresses of the best ones in Manhattan.  And he wouldn’t allow one rude, self-absorbed brat to throw him off his game.  He was still prime hook-up material, or could be with a little tuning up.  Some might say he was even better boyfriend material, but he wasn’t going down that path again.  He’d let his guard down with Matthew, and that had blown up in his face in spectacular fashion.

He’d get himself fixed up, he resolved, and would return to where he’d left off before Matthew showed up to complicate his life.  He would become the seasoned predator once more.  He would bag them, use them, and leave them wanting more.

 

******

 

"Hey, Teach, how's this look?"

Mike paused on his way back to the front of the classroom to bend over the shoulder of one of his students – Sid, he recalled, who had been paroled a couple of months ago, after three years inside for check fraud.  "Good formatting," he noted, examining the resume on the computer screen.  "Hm.  That's all the job experience you can come up with?"

"What else should I put?  All of my years of top-notch counterfeiting work?"

"No.  Leave that off.  If they ask you about it, don't lie.  No need to give them a reason to cross you off before you get a chance to make your case, though.  The resume is basically just to get you through the door for the interview.  The fewer red flags, the better your chances."

He knew better than any of them the truth in that.  He'd had dozens of doors slammed in his face until he'd landed his first job after prison.  His most recent victory had been the offer of this teaching job at the Adult Learning Center, for which his prison time had, ironically, turned out to be a major selling point.  It paid shit, but at least it kept him occupied for three evenings a week, supplementing his efforts to get enough money together for the business he planned to open someday.

"Someday" seemed to recede further and further into the future, but he hadn't given up all hope yet.  If he was sometimes tempted to, he listed in his head all that he'd accomplished in the five years since he'd gotten out.  After a few months in a halfway house, he'd found employment, secured housing (tiny, crappy, in a terrible neighborhood, but the rent was low enough that he could swing it – barely).  With a combination of grants and scholarships, he'd been able to enroll in college and earn a business degree, taking both evening and as many on-line classes as they allowed. 

Every extra cent he earned now went into savings for his dream of creating a non-profit which would address all the re-entry issues that ex-cons faced.  In addition to teaching the do’s and don’ts of resumes and job interviews to ex-cons, he worked as a bike messenger five days a week.  After he was done teaching, he tended bar a few blocks away until one in the morning.  The schedule was grueling, and exhausting, and he often felt on the verge of burning out, but none of the jobs paid well.  After rent and living expenses, there was precious little left over to go into his savings fund.

“Send it to the printer,” he told Sid, “and I’ll proof your spelling.”

“Sure.  Whatever.”  Appearing disheartened, Sid clicked his mouse a few times to print the one page resume.  Under his breath, he muttered, “Not like it matters.”

Mike sighed.  He was running out of energy for the constant pep talks.  He reminded himself that was part of what he was here for.  “It matters, Sid.  Maybe it seems hopeless, but somebody out there is going to take a chance on you.  Don’t lose hope.  Keep a positive attitude.”

He heard more than a few snickers as he walked over to the printer and grabbed the sheet of paper from it.  He could hardly blame the students for their cynical attitude.  They may have paid their debts to society, but society wasn’t ready to forgive them and move on.  It sucked.  He knew it, and they knew it.  But as ridiculous and pointless as his platitudes sounded, they were all he had.

After correcting Sid’s (surprisingly few) spelling errors, he wrapped up the class and watched the students all but trample one another to get out of the room.  He grabbed his messenger bag from the hook behind the door and took out his change of clothes.  He’d replaced his slacks with jeans, and was in the act of unbuttoning his short-sleeved dress shirt when someone knocked on the closed door. 

“Come in,” he called.

The door opened, and his friend Karen entered.  She taught a photography class down the hall.  “Oh my,” she breathed as she caught sight of his momentarily naked torso.  “Hubba hubba.  How did I not know until just this moment that you were such a prime piece of man flesh?”

Mike pulled on his t-shirt and gave her a wary smile.  “Um.  Thanks?”

“I’m serious.  Underneath your unbearably nerdy shirt and tie, you’ve got some of the nicest abs I’ve seen in a long time.”

He laughed, shoving his teaching clothes into the messenger bag.  “Not even on your fitness nut of a husband?  I thought he owned the trendiest new health club in Manhattan.  Doesn’t he take advantage of his own facilities?”

With a lopsided grin, Karen sidled up to him and ran her hand down his arm before squeezing his bicep lightly.  “Roger does okay, although he probably spends too much time behind his desk these days.”

“Counting all his money?”

“Something like that.  So where do you work out?”

“Not at _The Burn,_ that’s for sure.”  He shrugged into his jacket.  “Anyway, I’ve got to take off.”

Karen followed him out the door and down the hall.  “I’m serious, Mike.  You must have a great trainer.”

He laughed at that.  “Hardly.  You think I could afford one?  No, my clueless little dilettante, it’s the YMCA for me.  Luckily they have a sliding rate scale for those of us riding the poverty line.”  He didn’t mention that he’d first gotten into the habit of working out in prison.  There hadn’t been an abundance of options for passing the time inside, plus once he’d added a little bulk to his frame he’d been bothered less by other inmates.

As they reached the front door, Karen tugged on his coat sleeve, holding him in place. 

“I’m going to be late,” he complained. 

“I’m trying to have a conversation with you.”

“Come to the bar and you can talk all you want.”

“I’ve got the kids at home.  Just … hang on a second.”  She rooted around in her purse and finally came up with a business card.  “This is Roger’s direct line at the club.”

He stared at the card, and then at her, uncomprehending.  “You know I can’t afford that.  Weren’t you listening just now?”

“No, no, not for you to join.  He’s looking for personal trainers.  People who really know their stuff.  You clearly do.  And you're good at teaching.”

Mike grimaced.  “Ah.  I don’t know.  I’m too busy already.  You know, with my eighteen other jobs.”

“That’s just it.  You wouldn’t need those eighteen other jobs.  Do you know how much money you can make training rich, professional, type A assholes?”  She named an hourly amount, and Mike gaped at her.

“No shit?” he said, when he’d found his voice again.  “That’s … my god, that would be amazing.”  He could quit the messenger job, maybe cut back on the number of nights bartending.  He cautioned himself not to get his hopes up.  “Would he even hire me though?  With no experience, and with my background?”

She patted his arm.  “Oh, he’ll hire you honey.  I can be damned convincing when I want to be.”

 

******

 

When Mike walked through the front doors at _The Burn_ , he was tempted to put on his sunglasses as defense against the overwhelming brightness.  Gleaming chrome and mirrors surrounded him, equipment and furniture and architectural details reflecting natural light pouring through floor to ceiling windows.  He blinked as he stepped up to the receptionist and announced his appointment with Roger Burns.  He paged the owner, and moments later he appeared.

“Mike Ross,” he said as they shook hands, “Karen says great things about you.”  He was taller than Mike by several inches, perhaps twenty years older.  Dark hair shaved close to his skull did not disguise a receding hairline.  His nose looked as if it had been broken more than once.  Dark eyes regarded Mike seriously while he held onto his hand for longer than was polite, seemingly testing the strength of his grip.  Finally, he let go.  “I’m not going to bother with an interview.  Instead, you’re going to give me a training session.  Treat me like a client, and we’ll see if you’re up to the task.”

Karen had coached Mike, and so he was not surprised by the request.  “I’d start you off with a fifteen-minute warmup on the treadmill.”

“That’s fine.  It won’t count as part of their hour, but important nevertheless.  We counsel the members to warm up prior to their appointment time.  Let’s say I’m warmed up.  What now?”

“Uh.  Can I get you some water?”

Roger nodded.  “Nice manners.  I approve.  I’m good on hydration.”

“Okay.  Tell me a little about what you want to achieve.  Are we targeting a particular area?  Or is this about overall fitness?”

Roger nodded some more, and began to smile.  “This is all good.  Let’s say I want a set of abs like yours – which Karen has been writing sonnets to, by the way.”

Mike could see he meant it as a joke, but still cringed at the revelation.  He'd always considered his abs to be his own business.  “Ha.  Okay then.  I think we’ll start you off on the stability ball.”

******

At the end of the hour, Mike had secured a job as the newest personal trainer at _The Burn._   He was issued half a dozen black polo shirts with the club's logo on the left breast (a small, stylized flame with the name of the club underneath it), along with a locker and club ID, and been instructed to stock up on nice khakis. 

“I have a sizable waiting list of new clients looking to get on the schedule.  Think you can handle eight hours a day or more of this?”

“Absolutely,” he agreed, hoping it was true.  “As long as I can get out of here by quarter to six on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday for my classes.”

“No problem.  Just let Rafe know.  He handles the schedule.  Be here tomorrow morning at six.”  He handed Mike a sheet of printed paper.  “Your first client.  Harvey Specter.  Forty-five years old.  Corporate attorney.  Says he’s joining for his health, but I suspect it has more to do with vanity, just like ninety-percent of our members.”

Mike scanned the sheet of paper.  There wasn’t much on it besides the client’s grainy picture (taken for his id card), his membership status (premium platinum), and his responses to the fitness survey which all new members were required to complete. 

Mike hid his jolt of surprise when he realized that he recognized the face looking back at him.  He’d made deliveries to Pearson Hardman, and more recently, to Pearson, Specter & Litt, and had noticed the forbidding looking man with the killer cheekbones on more than one occasion.  Specter had, of course, looked through Mike like he was merely part of the scenery, which he supposed he was.

“Problem?” asked Roger.

Mike realized he’d been frowning for too long down at the paper.  “No.  No problem.  I can’t wait to get started.  See you tomorrow.  And seriously, thanks so much for this opportunity.”

They shook hands, and Mike left.

 

******

 

Getting out of bed an hour earlier than normal Wednesday morning felt like torture, and had Harvey grumbling and groaning.  Chupie followed him out of bed, and waited for him outside the bathroom while he shaved and brushed his teeth.  Dressed in sweatpants and t-shirt, he took her downstairs and outside.  Thankfully, she found a patch of grass she approved of almost right away, and completed her business.  Back upstairs, he rewarded her with her favorite treat, a Pupperoni stick, after which she found her bed in the kennel, and walked in circles inside of it until she found just the right spot, and flopped down, blinking up at him with liquid brown eyes.

He leaned down and scratched her behind the ears.  “Be a good girl, sweetie.  June will be here to walk you again in a few hours.”  He’d hired a dog walker years ago, who came at the same time every day, and was also on call for those evenings when he couldn’t get out of the office in time for Chupie’s regular evening walk.

Wishing he was as privileged as the dog, and could crawl back into bed to sleep for a few more hours, he grabbed his work clothes, wallet and keys and headed out the door.  _The Burn_ was close enough that he could walk, which had been part of the reason he had chosen it. 

 

******

 

Mike was operating on four hours of sleep, two shots of espresso, and adrenaline when he met Harvey Specter for the first time.   Mike was loitering by the front desk, chatting with Rafe, the “concierge” (as Roger insisted on calling him). 

The front door swung open, and Mike recognized the face before the man strode up to the desk and thrust his brand-new ID card at Rafe, who swiped it through the scanner and handed it back. Rafe took charge of the suit bag he carried.

“I have an appointment,” said Specter, eyes flicking toward Mike for half a second.  “I’m running late, so I don’t have a lot of time for standing around.”

Taking this as his cue, Mike pushed away from the desk and stepped forward, hand extended.

“Good morning, Mr. Specter.  I’m Mike.  I’ll be working with you.  Or rather, working you out.”

Specter took his hand.  His gaze traveled up and down Mike, taking everything in.  “Hello, Mike.  Call me Harvey.”

Something in his voice caught Mike off-guard.  He froze for a fraction of second, and then remembered to pump his hand up and down, and remove it from the other man’s grasp.  He resisted the urge to wipe his hand against his leg – not to scrub off anything unpleasant, but to dispel the charge of electricity which seemed to course through him at Harvey’s touch.  “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Got any scotch?  I might need it to get through this.”

Mike laughed uncertainly.  “I meant more along the lines of water, or a sports drink.”

“Pity.  Water then.”

Mike reached behind the counter to where they kept the complimentary bottles of water, and selected one for Harvey.  When he handed it to him, the other man’s fingers brushed over his, making his hand tingle.  Probably an accident, Mike decided, even as he suppressed the shiver that went through him.  “Have you warmed up?”

“Yes.  I walked here.  You’re only ten minutes from my building.  Convenient, isn’t it?”

Was there some secondary meaning layered into his commonplace words?  Was the man actually hitting on him?  Karen had warned Mike about this sort of thing, but he’d assumed she meant the female members.  He swallowed carefully and led the way to the weight room.  “Is that why you picked this club to join?  Because it was close?”

“Partly.  It didn’t hurt that it came out at the top of the list my assistant compiled of trendy, over-priced health clubs.”

Mike hid his grimace.  He’d never understood peoples’ worship of image and prestige.  Even if Mike had been able to afford a place like this, he liked to think that he would be just as happy at the YMCA.

He started walking, leading Harvey to the weight room.  “So, tell me, Harvey, what is it that you’re hoping to accomplish here?”

“The usual thing.  Lose the extra pounds.  Tune up my muscles.”

“Okay.  That sounds –”

“Because, I mean, I’ve always taken good care of myself.”

“I’m sure – ”

“It’s been a rough year, that’s all.  My fiancé left.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.  You must miss her.”

“Him. And yes, I did at first – after I got done being pissed at him for cheating on me.”

“Uh.”

“But …”  Harvey waved his hand dismissively.  “That’s a whole thing.  Work has been crazy too.  Our managing partner left, and we’ve been fighting like crazy to keep the firm together – what’s left of it.”

“Okay.”  Mike was at a loss as to what to say.  Harvey seemed prepared to unload every frustration in his life onto Mike. 

“And I just … I was turned down flat by some young kid at the club the other night.”  Harvey laughed, sounding uncomfortable, and his hand waved in the air once more, as if to banish his minor word tsunami.  “You don’t want to hear all that.  I suppose my point is that vanity plays a significant role in my fitness goals.”  He patted what Mike could see through his t-shirt was a soft middle.  “I’d like to replace this with what you’ve got.”

Mike tried not to preen at the implied compliment.  “Got it.  Abs are your number one priority?”

“And ass.  And this developing double chin.  Plus, I want to make sure my ticker remains in good shape.”

“How long has it been since you worked out regularly?”

“About a year.  I used to run, and box once or twice a week.”

“You don’t box anymore?”

“Nah.  Decided I was getting too old for that.”

Mike didn’t think he looked all that old, but he kept that to himself.  “I’m going to ease you into a routine that will work your whole body, with a little extra focus on your core.  And I’m going to recommend a nutrition program.”

“A diet?  I don’t know …”

“Nothing complicated.  Some guidelines and suggestions.  I’m guessing you work a lot of long hours, and subsist mainly on takeout.  Is that about right?”

“Nailed it.”

“And you use alcohol to smooth the rough edges at the end of the day?”

“Look, Mike, I didn’t come here for a lecture.”

The weight room was nearly empty this time of the morning.  Mike pointed at one of the benches.  “Have a seat.  This isn't a lecture, but you did come here, and you’re paying the club a sizable chunk of money for my services.  If you’re serious about losing weight, and getting back into shape, what you eat is almost as important as your exercise routine.”

Harvey looked up at Mike, seeming to consider what he’d said.  “If I follow your ‘nutrition guidelines,’ and see you three times a week, how long until I’m back to the way I was?”

“I can’t say for sure.  How were you?”

Harvey grinned, “Pretty goddamn spectacular.”

Mike believed him.  Feeling too warm all of a sudden, he pivoted away, turning his back to Harvey and squatting in front of a rack holding hand weights, where he chose what he thought would be a suitable weight to get Harvey started.  “Lie back on the bench,” he instructed when he turned back around.  Harvey lay down, while Mike struggled to push away an image of Harvey in bed, grinning wickedly up at him like he was now.  “My first goal,” he said, handing Harvey a hand weight, “is to wipe that smile off your face.”

“I’m all yours.  Let’s make me sweat.”

******

By the end of the session, Mike was sweating almost as much as Harvey, but for different reasons.  In the space of an hour with Harvey Specter, at least one of his personal, nagging questions had been answered.  What he'd shared with Charlie hadn't just been a prison convenience, or a one-time thing.  It turned out that he was definitely attracted to men.

Harvey was pushing all his buttons, and seemed interested in Mike as well, if he was reading the signals correctly.  The problem?  Harvey was a member, and the club rules clearly stated that they were off-limits to employees.  As Mike put him through his paces, Harvey kept up a near constant stream of innuendo and double entendres, causing Mike to blush, even as he ground his teeth together in frustration.

When the hour was up, Mike let out a covert sigh of relief, handed Harvey the water bottle, and crossed his arms.  "Good workout.  We concentrated on your upper body today.  You're on the schedule again on Friday, so we'll switch it off and spend a bit more time on your legs and glutes."

One side of Harvey's mouth lifted as he wiped a towel over his sweaty face.  "I like it.  You can work my ass anytime you want."

"Ah.  That's …"  Mike paused to take a few calming breaths.  "Harvey, I don't want to be out of line here, but we should probably get one thing clear before our next session.  "I'm not … that is, we can't … or you shouldn't …"

Harvey's eyes had narrowed during Mike's stuttering attempt to explain himself, and the half-smile had started to fade.   “Shouldn’t what?”

The room had filled slowly with other early-rising members during the workout, so Mike stepped in close to Harvey and lowered his voice.  “If I’m misinterpreting the situation, I apologize in advance.  It’s just … you need to stop.”

“Stop?  Stop what?”  All trace of humor was gone from Harvey’s face.  Mike could see that he was a man who disliked being told “no.”

Mike suppressed his growl of frustration.  “Hitting on me.  You need to stop hitting on me.  It’s flattering, and all, but if I would, or could … I can’t with you.  Not you personally.  I just haven’t, for a long time.    But … but mostly club policy is clear, and forbids any, er …”

“Any what?”

Mike searched his suddenly blank mind for the right word, failed to retrieve it, and settled for, “Any commingling.  With members.”

After a momentary blank look, Harvey bared his teeth in a smile which didn’t reach his dark eyes.  “I’ve always found that it’s more fun if we use our members, but if you insist, we could try it a different way.”

“Ah.  Ha ha.  See, that right there.  That is what I’m talking about.”

Harvey tossed his towel to Mike, and then drank down what remained in his water bottle.  “No flirting with the help.  Got it.  I just hope they’re giving you medical here.”

Mike was almost afraid to ask.  “And why is that?”

“So that you’ll have some assistance paying to get that giant stick removed from your ass.”

A hot spike of anger shot through Mike.  He spotted Rafe signaling him from the front desk that his next client was waiting.  Tamping down his annoyance, he spoke in a level voice.  “This obviously isn’t going to work.  I’ll make sure you’re put on a different trainer’s schedule going forward.  In the meantime, you have a great day.”  He pivoted on his heel and stomped away, not bothering to look back to see Harvey’s reaction.  He could almost feel his gaze, though, boring into the back of his head.

 

******

 

Harvey watched the handsome young trainer stalk away.  He sighed and gave his head a shake.  Why get so self-righteous about a bit of harmless flirting?  The endorphins released during the workout seemed to fade away as depression crashed back in.  Even the paid employees were shooting him down.  Did he just need to give in and admit that his days as a solid nine or ten were over for good?

He was positive he hadn’t mistaken the hot interest in Mike’s eyes when he first laid eyes on Harvey, which had been both surprising and gratifying.  He’d responded to each of Harvey’s hints, subtle and not so subtle, with all too obvious blushes.  What he’d just revealed, through all of his stammering, seemed to be a lack of experience with men.  Or maybe, like that kid at the club, Mike “didn’t do fatties.”  No, Harvey had seen Mike’s initial reaction.  He read people for a living, and Mike was attracted to him, flaws and all.  Cock and all.

He’d seen Mike immediately as a possibility for a casual conquest.  And, damn it, his ego and self-worth needed it, almost as much as his libido.  It would not be as easy as he’d initially thought, but when had he ever shied away from a challenge?

After his shower, now dressed for work in his suit, Harvey stopped at the front desk on his way out, ostensibly to confirm his next session.

“I have you with Don, Friday at six a.m.” the concierge told him.

“Must be some mistake.  Mike is my trainer.”

“He says you requested – ” 

“He’s mistaken.  Make sure I’m on the schedule with him, or I’ll have to speak to the owner.”

“No problem, sir.”  Rafe tapped away at his tablet and gave Harvey a tight smile.  “All taken care of.  We’ll see you on Friday.”

As Harvey headed for the door, he caught sight of Mike’s gorgeous, tight, muscular ass, where he squatted near the leg press machine, adjusting the weight.  He pushed through the front door, cold brisk wind smacking him in the face, and he vowed that he would own that ass, sooner rather than later.

 

******

 

Mike was busy setting up for his job search workshop at the Adult Learning Center when Karen poked her head through the door, and then sidled inside to stand with her arms crossed.

“Hi, Karen,” he said, “kind of busy here.”

“Too busy to tell me about your first day?”

“Nothing to tell.”  He paused, eyeing at her, and then came to a decision.  “Except … there was this one guy who …”  Frowning, he shook his head.  “Never mind.”

She walked closer.  “Never mind?  Uh, hello?  You’ve met me, right?  When have I ever minded my own business?”

Karen had a point, and Mike did feel the need to unload to somebody about Harvey Specter.  “I’ll tell you, but you’ve got to promise not to repeat this to your husband.”

“It’s in the vault.”

So far, for as long as he’d known her, Karen had been true to her word.  He knew he could trust her to keep a secret, even from her husband – maybe especially from her husband.  “My first client of the day.  Harvey.  Smoking hot guy.  I mean, a little too chatty, with a disturbing need to overshare, but oh my fucking god, so hot.  He flirted with me the whole time.  You wouldn’t believe some of the lines he came up with.”

“Such as?”

Mike blushed, remembering.  “He stood behind me every chance he got.  Expressed his desire to see if he could bounce a quarter off my ass.  Just … stop laughing.  It was embarrassing.”

“So, when are you going out with him?”

“I’m not.  I told him to knock that shit off, and then I had Rafe put him on Don’s schedule, instead of mine.”

“Problem solved.”

“I wish.  The guy ordered Rafe to switch him back.”

Students had begun filtering into the room.  Karen moved closer and perched on the edge of the desk.  “I don’t see the problem, Mike.”

“The problem is, if I date him, I lose my job.”

“Date?  Who said anything about dating?  Just let him do the nasty with you.  You’re long overdue.  How long has it been again?”

“Six months.  With a woman.  With a guy?  Not since prison.”

“Ooh.  Hot prison sex?  How did I not know about this?  You’ve been holding out on me.”

“It wasn’t like that.  We were cellmates, who – you know what?  Never mind.”

“Okay, let’s put a pin in _that_ for the next time I take you out and get you drunk.  You can give me all the dirty details then.  For now, maybe think about taking hot Harvey out for a spin.  If he’s hitting on you, that means he’s just as hard up as you.  Don’t give me that look.  I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.  You’re like this delicious treat being dangled in front of him, this hot, sexy trainer—”

“I’m not.”

“Honey, have you looked in a mirror lately?  Seriously, though, give him what he wants, and you’ll get what you want.”

“How do you know what I want?  Maybe I want a relationship that lasts for more than the length of time it takes two hard-up guys to … to …”

“To what, Mike?”  Karen gave him a devilish grin.  “To suck, and fuck and make each other scream and shoot like geysers?”

“Jesus,” he hissed at her, “lower your voice.”  Half a dozen students were already at their desks, and had probably heard every word.

“Prude.  Listen, Mike, lasting relationships aren’t the only, or even always the best outcome.  Have a little fun.  You’ve earned it.  You’re the hardest working guy I know.  Just be discreet about it.  No hooking up in the men’s room, or the locker room.  Meet him somewhere else.  Let him buy you a nice dinner, or some expensive drinks.  Scratch your itch, let him scratch his, and savor the naughty little secret you share.  Trust me, he won’t say anything to Roger.”

“How can you be so sure?”

She shrugged.  “I don’t know this guy specifically, but if he’s like I was with Roger in the beginning, he’s in it for the risk and the whole ‘forbidden fruit’ angle.”

“Wait.  You?  And Roger?”

“Didn’t I tell you?  That’s how we met.  He was my personal trainer, way, w-a-a-a-a-y back in the day.”

“Huh.  But he ended up marrying you.  Didn’t you just tell me lasting relationships aren’t always the best outcome?”

Another shrug.  “Life is full of surprises like that.  We fell in love.  On his side, it might have had something to do with all that money my daddy left me.  I don’t regret it.”  She glanced up at the clock.  “Whoops.  Gotta go.  Have a good class.”

“Yeah.”  He gave her a distracted wave.  “You too.”

 

******

 

By the time Friday morning arrived, Harvey had decided to take a different approach with Mike.  Instead of treating him like any other casual pick-up at a bar or club, he would try the whole “respect,” and “getting to know one another” shtick.  Maybe that’s what people wanted these days.  It had been ten whole years since he’d had to exert himself to get laid.  Obviously, the aggressive, get-to-the-point method, which had served him so well before Matthew, would need some tweaking.

When Mike joined him, and led him out to the floor of the club, Harvey opened with, “I feel the need to apologize.”

“Oh?  What for?”  Mike sounded too casual and unconcerned, but Harvey saw the sudden tension in his back.

“You were right on Wednesday.  I was completely out of line with you.  I’m sorry.”

Mike paused, hands on hips, and then looked back over his shoulder.  “Apology accepted.”  He resumed walking until he reached the first machine he intended for Harvey to use.  “We’re going to focus on your lower body today, starting with your adductor muscles.  Have a seat.”

Harvey arranged himself on the seat of the machine.  Movable pads held his legs apart, making him feel exposed and weirdly vulnerable.  He was familiar with this type of machine, and had used one more than once.  He watched Mike adjust the weight and then step back next to Harvey’s hip.  Judging by the look on his face, he was engaged in some kind of internal debate.  He surprised Harvey by placing his palm high on his leg.

“You should feel it here,” Mike explained, “in your inner thigh, and to a lesser extent, in your glutes.” 

After the barest hesitation, his warm hand moved to briefly cup one of Harvey’s ass checks.  Harvey cocked an eyebrow at him, and bit the side of his cheek to keep the instinctual racy comment from falling out of his mouth.  _Those aren’t the only places I’m feeling it._

Harvey moved his bent legs, pushing them together.  The weight was enough that he could feel it, but not so high that he felt in danger of injuring himself.  Mike knew what he was doing.

“I’ll keep count,” said Mike.  “Keep going.  That’s good.  Slow down your movements a little.  Really feel the resistance.”

Harvey followed all of Mike’s instructions, even as he kept half an eye on the trainer.  So intent was he on Mike’s lithely muscled arms that he almost missed his next words.

“And hold.  After each set, you should pause for a good thirty to sixty seconds of recovery.  Use your watch, or the one on the wall over there, to keep track.”

“You’re good at this,” commented Harvey, figuring a simple compliment couldn’t hurt.  “How long have you been a trainer?”

Mike got a sheepish look on his face, which confused Harvey, until he admitted, “Counting today?  Three days now.”

“Ah.  They gave me the newbie.”

“I did try to get you reassigned.  Okay, second set, and begin.”

Harvey resumed his movements, and they lapsed into silence.  His inner thighs were beginning to burn by the time Mike had him pause again.

“I don’t mind,” said Harvey, as if their conversation had not been interrupted.  “I can tell you know your stuff.  Did you have to take a class or something?”

“No.  It was trial and error when I started out, and watching what other people did.  When I had access to the internet again, it was simple enough to teach myself everything I needed to know.”

“When did you not have access to the internet?  Were you in a monastery?”

“Last set.  Begin.”

Harvey didn’t have an opportunity to resume his questioning until Mike had moved him to the next machine.

“This will work your abductors, or outer thigh muscles, and your quadriceps.  Same routine as before.  Three sets, with a recovery period between each set.”

Harvey moved the weights, pushing out, rather than in, and finding this machine slightly more taxing than the last.  At the first recovery period, he was ready with his question.  “I’m seriously curious where you were with no internet.”

Mike didn’t answer until after Harvey’s next reps.  “They did have the internet, actually, but I didn’t have ready access to it.”  A pause and a grimace.  “Fine.  Since you’re so curious, I was in prison.  Last set.  Begin.”

This time, Harvey was grateful for the conversational reprieve.  Prison?  That was a surprise.  Did it change his attraction to Mike?  No, he decided almost immediately, it did not.  Still, maybe he should slow down a little, and find out more about him before he took things any further.

"So, Mike, what do you do when you're not working here?"

“That’s not the question I expected next.”

“Oh?”

“This is usually where the other person wants to know what I was in for, so they’ll know if they’re in danger of being murdered, or burgled, or … whatever.”

“Am I?  In danger?”  He watched Mike’s face closely, surprised by the sudden vulnerability he saw there.

“No.  It was drugs.  Pot.  I was doing a favor for a friend, and I got caught.”

“First time offense?  I’m surprised they didn’t let you plead down, or get off with house arrest.”

“The judge was looking to make a name for himself.”

“Ah.  How long?”

“Five years in.”

“Ouch.”

“And now five years out.  It’s been a bit of an uphill battle, trying to get my life back on track.  Finding a decent job has been the biggest struggle.  Had to hold down a minimum of two at a time just to make ends meet.  This place pays well enough that I might even consider quitting one of my night jobs.”

"One of?  What do you do at night?"

"I do a little teaching.  And I tend bar five nights a week, from eight until one."

"Busy guy.  What bar?"

"You wouldn't know it."

"I might."

Mike gave him a skeptical look.  "A total dive called _Casper's_."

Harvey’s eyes widened in surprise.  "I do know that place.  And it's not a dive so much as a neighborhood legend."

Mike only grunted in response.  Harvey remained quiet as Mike instructed him on three more machines. 

Finally, “Let’s do some floor work,” Mike said.  They found a semi-secluded spot on the floor, which was covered with a thick, blue mat.  Harvey lay on his back, while Mike anchored his feet to the floor and coached him through several sets of (painful) sit-ups.  He gave an involuntary flinch when Mike set his hand against his belly and gave his pointers on his form.  It was hard to listen while that large, firm hand was touching him, but something must have penetrated, because his next set got a nod of approval from Mike.

After that, they did some work with the stability ball, which Harvey decided he hated.  "I feel like I'm going to fall off the damn thing," he complained after another set of wobbly sit-ups.

"That's normal."

"Feeling off-balance is normal?"

"You get used to it."

Harvey growled low in his throat, but made no further comment. 

Still, Mike heard him, and chuckled.  "It's good for your core.  And your abs.  Think of the abs, Harvey."

That made Harvey laugh, which in turn destroyed his form – what form he had, which wasn't much.  Mike apparently decided to show him mercy, and told him to get up. 

"We're going to finish up the hour with walking lunges.  The first few will seem easy enough, but you'll be plotting my grisly death by the time we're finished."

Harvey wasn't plotting Mike's death, but he was cursing under his breath as he paced slowly around the room.  With each long step, he dropped into a lunge, rose, and took his next step.  Five steps in, his thighs were burning, and he was breathing hard. 

"I'll only have you do twenty-five today," Mike was saying, "but we're going to gradually increase the number.  This will give you a nice, tight ass, like you wouldn't believe."

Half a dozen inappropriate rejoinders sprang to Harvey's lips, but he kept them to himself.  It was difficult to flirt when one's own harsh, wheezing breaths filled the air, an embarrassing reminder of the current state of his health.  He kept going, kept doggedly moving through the burn, until Mike announced that their hour was up.

"Have you decided how you're going to do it?"

Harvey frowned at Mike, toweling sweat from his face and neck.  "Do what?"

"Murder me."

Harvey chuckled.  "I'd never do that.  It would be such a waste."

"A waste of what?"  Mike eyed him challengingly, arms crossed.

"Of a …"  _Of a perfect, smoking hot piece of ass._ "Of a perfectly good trainer."

"Right.”  Mike’s tone was skeptical.  “I'll see you back here on Monday.  In the meantime, try to get in some cardio, at last half an hour a day.  More, eventually, when you’re ready.  Don't overdo it to begin with."

Harvey wanted to stay and talk some more, to ask Mike about his life, and his hopes and dreams, maybe ask him out to dinner, or for drinks.  He needed to get to work, though, and Mike had another client waiting for him.  Plus, that whole not dating the members rule seemed to be a sticking point for Mike.  Still, Harvey felt confident that he'd get Mike to change his mind.  If he couldn’t close some personal trainer, ex-con closest case, he’d be forced to admit he’d lost more than just his physical edge, and he wasn’t about to admit that, because it wasn’t true.

 

******

 

By Saturday night, lack of sleep began to take a serious toll on Mike.  Not that many years ago, he had been able to subsist on three or four hours of sleep, but now, at thirty-five, he did not possess the same limitless reserves of energy.  Luckily, he only had one bartending shift to get through, and then he was free until Monday morning.  He planned to spend most of his downtime in bed.

Now, he leaned against the bar, trying to psych himself for another pass around the room for empties, while the latest karaoke train wreck warbled about how they were a cowboy, and were wanted dead or alive.  He normally didn't mind working a busy weekend shift on his own.  He was fast, efficient, knew how to flirt and joke with the customers, and as a result, the tips were great and he didn't have to share them.  Tonight, the typical drunken antics were getting on his last nerve.  All he wanted to do was crawl under the bar and take a nap.

"Let's give it up for Ernesto," urged Jim, the karaoke host, sounding less than enthused.  A lackluster scatter of applause sounded, along with drunken cheers from Ernesto's friends.  "Next in the rotation is Lulu, who is going to get up here and show us how to shake it off."

"Kill me now," Mike muttered.

 "Wow.  This place has changed."

Mike gave a start and straightened up, ordering his heart to slow down.  Harvey Specter had materialized on the stool directly in front of him.  Mike took a moment to compose himself, taking a swipe at the bar top with a damp rag.  "Has it?" he finally asked, as if there was nothing odd about Harvey showing up here, at his night job.

"Well, they haven't updated the burgundy leather booths.  I see a few cracks in the leather, and stuffing poking through.  I could swear those are the same beer advertisements and posters on the walls.  As for the rest of it …"  At Mike's raised eyebrow, he clarified, "This place used to have live bands on the weekends, right over there.  I came here to see my dad play a few times."

"Is your dad a famous rock star or something?"

"Hardly.  He played jazz sax."

"Ah."  Mike wondered what his musician father had thought about Harvey deciding to become a corporate attorney.  After a brief silence, he remembered to ask, "Can I get you something to drink?"

"You're not going to give me a hard time about ruining my diet with empty calories?"

"I can do that Monday morning, if you want, when I'm being paid to build you up.  Tonight, I'm being paid to wreck you.  What'll you have?"

"Nice compartmentalization."  Harvey was grinning at him, and Mike was certain he'd never seen a more attractive smile in his life.  "I'll have a Macallan 18, neat."

"You got it."  Mike turned away to retrieve the bottle, and a glass.  He should have known Harvey would drink something pricey like that.  "So, you going to get up there and sing?"  He gestured at the barely legal girl mangling Taylor Swift's biggest hit.

"Me?  Absolutely not."

"Didn't inherit your dad's musical skills?"

"My dad couldn't sing a note.  And for your information, I'm not half bad on the piano."

"If you say so."

"I say so.  If you don't believe me, I can prove it to you.  Just come up to my place and let me perform for you."

Mike's mouth may have fallen open as he considered how to respond to that blatant proposal.  Just then, two customers approached the bar, and Mike broke away to serve them their drinks.  When he'd finished, it seemed natural to gravitate back to Harvey.  Lulu had finished her number, and Jim announced he'd be taking a fifteen-minute break.

"That means he's going to the alley out back to get high," Mike explained to Harvey.

"Understandable."

Another short silence.  "Anyway," said Mike, "I've got to go bus some tables."

"I'll be here when you get back."

That announcement shouldn’t have caused Mike's heart to lift, but it did.  New energy filled him as he grabbed a tray and went to collect empty glasses and bottles.

 

******

 

Harvey sipped his Macallan and fought down the urge to swivel on his stool to stare at Mike as he moved around the shadowy room.  He didn't have to turn around, since there was a mirror behind the bar, in which he could keep watch on the sexy young man.  Faded jeans and a worn t-shirt had never looked so good on anyone before.  It helped that the jeans hugged his perfect ass, and that his biceps bulged past the edges of the shirt sleeves. 

God, he wanted this guy.  He wanted to lick his exquisite abs, and bury himself between his delectable ass cheeks.  He seemed more approachable here at the bar, not so uptight.  And he'd actually acted glad to see Harvey.  If he pushed him a little, he'd give in.  Harvey could feel it.  He could get him home and fuck his brains out, and no one would ever know.  Roger Burns would certainly never find out, not from Harvey.  Hopefully, Mike would continue on as his trainer, but if not, there were plenty of others to choose from.  It would be worth losing him as a trainer to get his hands on him for a night or two. 

When Mike returned with a full tray, he squatted down to fill the dishwasher.  Harvey savored his drink, and savored the view.  With Mike back behind the bar, a line formed for drinks.   When he'd finished with the dishwasher, he straightened up and began pouring, and mixing and flirting.  He wasn't the most skilled bartender Harvey had ever seen, but he was good with the mostly young crowd, sharing small jokes and laughter, addressing many of them by their first names. 

Had Mike ever left the bar with one of these attractive young men or women?  The thought made Harvey stupidly jealous, and a touch melancholy at the same time.  He was easily the oldest person in here.  Was he being sized up and found undesirable by these kids?  Normally, he wouldn't give a shit, but he was still smarting from his rejection a week ago.

The small rush of customers subsided, a visibly high Jim returned to resume the show, and Mike came back to lean by the bar near Harvey.  "You want another one?" he asked, gesturing at Harvey's nearly empty glass. 

He pretended to consider.  "What time do you get off?"

Mike pursed his lips, as if debating whether to make the obvious joke.  Finally, he said, "In about an hour.  That is, if my relief is on time tonight."

"Got any plans for the rest of the night?"

"Go to bed and stay there."

A huge grin split Harvey's face.  "That dovetails nicely with my plans."

Mike rolled his eyes, but Harvey could see that he was fighting a smile.  "My God.  Do you ever stop flirting?"

"Does it bother you?"

Mike shrugged and shuffled his feet.

It seemed a good time to ask the all-important question.  "I don't think I'm wrong," said Harvey slowly, "but if I am, just say the word.  You do like guys, right?"

Mike kept his gaze on the bar top, using the rag to scrub and scrub at an imaginary spot.  "Ah, now that is a complicated question."

"Really?  Seems simple to me."

A blush washed through Mike’s fair skin, but he gained sufficient courage to meet Harvey’s eyes.  "Does it?  Well.  Okay.  It must be nice to have things so clear.  Honestly?  I never considered it.  I like woman.  I love woman.  I dated women.  And then … I went to prison, and … there was this guy I knew inside.”

"Oh, wait.  Stop right there.  If there is a hot prison sex story coming up, maybe I'd better have that second drink after all."

Shaking his head and quirking his lips into a not-quite-smile, Mike pivoted, grabbed the bottle of Macallan 18 from the shelf, and poured Harvey a healthy shot.  He paused, once again seeming to conduct a brief, internal debate, and then poured himself a smaller shot, which he downed in one swift gulp.

“You really should sip it,” Harvey admonished.

“Do you want to hear the story or not?”  He waited, but Harvey managed to remain silent.  “I wouldn’t call it a ‘hot’ story.  Jesus, where do people get that from anyway?  When I went to prison, I was a skinny, twenty-five-year-old kid.  Too smart for my own good, with a smart mouth, and not a lot of common sense.  My cellmate was this guy named Charlie, who was finishing up a seven-year stint for auto theft.  He was intimidating as hell – big, and buff, and covered with tattoos.  I was sure I wasn’t going to last the week with him.  Turned out, he was one of the kindest, most down-to-earth people I’ve ever met.  He taught me the ropes, kept me safe, and incidentally, got me started on the weights.  We were more than friends, we were brothers.  Except …”

“Except for the sex?”

“If you could even call it that.  I’m not sure.  A year and a half into my sentence, Charlie was granted parole.  I think that gave him the courage to confess how he felt about me.  And … one thing led to another.”

“As it does.”

“As it does.  We kissed, and jerked each other off.  The next day, he was gone.  So … who knows where things might have led if we’d had more time?”

“And since you’ve been out?”

“I’ve dated a little.  Half a dozen women.  Nothing with any staying power.  I’ve thought about trying to pick up a guy, but it sounds so pathetic in my head, admitting that I’m over thirty, and so inexperienced in that area.”

“You just admitted it to me, and I don’t think you’re pathetic.”

Mike stared at Harvey with an expression on his face he could not decipher – equal parts amused, apprehensive, speculative.  Another mini-rush hit the bar just then, and Mike moved away to pour drinks.

 

******

 

The crowd nearly doubled just before midnight, as it often did on Saturday nights and Mike was kept busy serving, clearing tables, and refereeing the occasional drunken disagreement.  He kept half an eye on Harvey, noting how he nursed the second drink Mike had served him.  The sounds coming from the microphone grated on Mike’s nerves more than usual, and he supposed they had to be even more objectionable to someone like Harvey, who apparently had musical ability and appreciation built into his DNA.  He didn’t get up and leave, as Mike might have expected, but sat on his stool and endured every sour, screechy note.

Skip showed up ten minutes late, as usual.  Mike grabbed his tips, counted and balanced his till, and turned back around to find Harvey eying him.  “Uh,” said Mike, “look, I’m beat.  It was nice to see you tonight.  Thanks for coming in.  Good talk, and all that.  Drinks are on me, by the way.  So … I guess I’ll see you Monday morning, bright and early?”

“Where do you live?”

Of course, he was not going to allow Mike to make a graceful exit.  “Brooklyn.”

“Can I give you a lift?”

“Nah, I'm good.  I’ve got my bike.”

Harvey slid off his stool, signaling his intention to follow Mike out of the bar.  “You’re going to ride to Brooklyn at one in the morning on a bike?”

Trying not to laugh, Mike pulled his helmet and leather jacket out from under the bar.  “Bike, as in motorcycle.”  He watched, amused, as Harvey’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.  “What?  You thought I got around the city on a bicycle?  I mean, who does that?”  He didn’t mention that he used to do just that, rather recently, as a bike messenger.  Shrugging into his jacket, he headed for the door, waving goodbye to Skip, and to Jim.  Harvey trailed after him.

“I don’t live far,” said Harvey.  “Why don’t you leave your bike here, and come home with me?”

“I’ve already explained to you why I can’t do that.”

“Your job?  That's irrelevant.  No one will ever find out we've spent time together.  Not from me.  I can tell you want to.  Why bother denying it?”

“Or maybe that’s just your ego talking.”

“I owe you a performance … on the piano, that is.”

Mike bit his lip.  It was tempting.  He hadn’t been this attracted to another person since … never.  Even slightly out of shape, Harvey was sexy as hell.  His damn face was so easy to look at.  And he was so easy to talk to.  Mike had admitted things to him he had never spoken aloud before.  Harvey was turning out to be a hard man to say no to.

“All right.  I’ll follow you there.”  _Don’t expect anything from me,_ he wanted to add, but at that moment he couldn’t have predicted what might happen at Harvey’s place.  Just the thought of being alone together sent a hot curl of excitement through him.

Harvey was driving a fancy little sports car.  He sped through the nighttime streets as if he owned them.  Behind him, on his old Harley, Mike had no trouble keeping up with him.  When he imagined Harvey seated behind him on the bike, groin pressed to his bottom, he groaned out loud, and the sound was swallowed up by the roar of his engine.

At Harvey’s building, Mike followed the sports car into the underground garage, and parked in one of the guest spots.  With his helmet under one arm, he rode the elevator up to Harvey’s condo.  Inside, he didn’t even try to hide how impressed he was by both the furnishings and the view.  He’d known Harvey was successful, and this place confirmed his taste for the finer things.

“Nice,” he said, nodding his head.

“You can put your helmet there.”  Harvey gestured at the breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the living room.

As Mike placed his helmet on the counter, he felt Harvey step up right behind him.  He stiffened, but then realized Harvey only intended to help him out of his jacket.  Together, they wrestled it off.  Instead of moving away, Harvey stayed where he was.  Moments later, Mike felt his lips pressed lightly to his neck, just underneath his ear.  He gave an involuntary shiver and turned around, facing Harvey, chests brushing. 

 _This is not a good idea,_ Mike wanted to say, but his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth.  Harvey’s hand rested on his shoulder, and his face was only inches away from Mike’s.  Curiosity got the better of him: what would Harvey’s mouth feel like under his?  Abandoning good sense for the moment, he leaned in and kissed Harvey.  Perhaps Harvey hadn’t been expecting Mike to take the initiative, or perhaps he didn’t want to scare him off.  Whatever the case, he remained utterly still for several seconds.  Mike moved his lips over Harvey’s, licked between them and pushed inside, meeting no resistance.

Kissing Harvey, he immediately decided, felt exponentially better than kissing anyone he'd ever known before.  He had a disorienting sensation of arriving at a destination he’d been traveling toward for years, but hadn’t known existed.  Mike’s hands came up to hold Harvey’s head, while he tilted his own head and deepened the kiss.  He heard his heavy leather jacket hit Harvey’s floor, and then arms circled his waist, holding him close.  Mike’s lower back pressed against the edge of the counter.  He had a sudden urge to clamber up onto the breakfast bar and spread himself out like a filthy buffet for Harvey to feast on.

Instead of giving into the urge, he turned his head sharply to the side, breaking the connection.  He rested his palms on Harvey’s chest as if to push him away, but did not exert any force.  Harvey still held him around the waist, and he could feel Harvey’s erection pressing alongside his own.

“Okay,” panted Mike.  “That answers that question.”

“What question?”  Harvey leaned in and licked Mike’s damp temple.

“If, I, or we.  If there was a thing … you know … chemistry.”  He couldn’t seem to get words organized and formed into coherent sentences.

“Indisputably,” Harvey murmured, cupping Mike’s face, and thumbing his lower lip.  “Kiss me again.”

“Bad idea.  I’ve explained – ”  The remainder of his well-reasoned argument was cut off when Harvey covered his mouth with his own, and thrust his tongue into Mike’s mouth.

Mike surrendered to the burgeoning heat, hands clutching Harvey’s shoulders, groin pressed to Harvey’s as they ground frantically against one another.  The scent and feel of Harvey filled Mike’s awareness, pushing out reason and good sense.  He heard with amazement his own savage, hungry grunts as Harvey’s tongue explored his mouth, all the way to his tonsils.

“Too many clothes,” Harvey muttered, and the next thing Mike knew, his t-shirt had been stripped up and off, over his head, and flung across the room.  In the next instant, Harvey had dropped to his knees in front of him, and was working Mike’s jeans open.

“Oh god,” Mike choked out.  He heard whining, realized it wasn’t him, and seconds later realized it wasn’t Harvey either.  His eyes popped opened and he looked around the room.  “What the hell is that?”

Harvey froze, hands clutching Mike’s waistband, and leaned his forehead against Mike’s ribcage.  “Fuck.  I forgot about Chupie.  I can’t believe it.”

“What’s a … you forgot about … _what?_ ”

Harvey gave a hoarse laugh.  “My dog.  Shit.  I’m sorry.  I need to let her out and take her for a walk.”

Mike watched as Harvey struggled to his feet and walked down the hall to open a door.  A small brown dachshund hustled out into the hallway, jumping up once onto Harvey’s legs, and then, after spotting Mike, it ran straight for him and propped its front legs on his knee.  He reached down and petted the dog, scratching behind its ears.  “What did you say its name was?”

“Her name.  Mike, meet Chupie.  Chupie, get down.  That's rude.”

“Chupie?”

Harvey’s mouth twisted, and he might even have blushed.  “Short for Chupacabra.  Which is what I wanted to call her when Matthew – my ex – brought her home over my strenuous objections.  He appeased me by letting me name her, but he shortened it to something more suited to her personality.”

“Well, hello, Chupie.”  Mike dropped into a squat and let the dog climb halfway into his lap, wagging her tail, and gazing up at him with adoring brown eyes.  “She’s really sweet.”  Mike grinned up at Harvey.

“Yes, she is.  I’d like to tell you she can sense you’re a good person, but the truth is, she loves everyone she meets the same way, in the same amount, human, canine, or feline.”

Mike scratched more vigorously behind the dog’s floppy ears.  “You’re just a little love bug,” he cooed.  “Yes, you are.”

“A love bug whose bladder is probably ready to explode.  Look, I’m sorry to interrupt when we were just getting warmed up, but I really do need to get her outside.  It’ll take me five minutes, ten minutes tops.  Fix yourself a drink, and I’ll be right back.”  He retrieved a leash from one of the kitchen drawers, clipped it to the dog’s collar, stuffed a small plastic bag in his pocket, gave Mike a quick kiss, and headed out the door.

Left alone, Mike debated taking the opportunity to leave.  His rational mind was insisting that staying would be a mistake of monumental proportions, potentially destroying or delaying his carefully laid plans for the future.  That was just his mind, though.  The rest of him wanted to finish what he and Harvey had started.  At a minimum, it seemed certain that he’d been on the verge of receiving a Harvey Specter blowjob, which promised to be amazing.  Was he that much of a dull, dogged rule-follower these days, that he’d give that up?

Too soon.  Things were moving too fast.  Plus, he'd flaunted rules and common sense enough in the past to know how that usually turned out.  Five years in prison had driven the lesson home: no cheating, and no shortcuts.

Having determined he needed to put the brakes on, he scanned the living room until he spotted his t-shirt.  It had landed on the far side of the room, near the floor to ceiling windows, next to a baby grand piano.  He walked over and put the shirt back on, and then moved closer to the piano.  It was black, like the leather couch and many of the accents in the room, and gleamed with an almost mirror-like polish.  He slid one finger over the keys, creating a discordant ripple of sound that ratcheted up his feelings of unease.

If he left now, he risked running into Harvey in the elevator, which would lead to the need to explain and defend his impulse to retreat in such a cowardly fashion.  He didn't want to retreat, that was the problem – or half of the problem.  The other half was that he absolutely _needed_ to retreat.

Ultimately, he decided that he would take Harvey up on his invitation, and fix himself a drink.  In the kitchen, he searched for and found Harvey's half-empty bottle of Macallan and poured two glasses.  He drank his in two gulps, and poured himself another.  In an excess of nerves, he picked his jacket up off the floor and placed it next to his helmet.  He had just sat down on the sofa when the door opened, and Harvey and Chupie were back.

“Success?” he asked.

“She got right to it, most likely because she wanted to get back up here for some more ear scritches from you.  However, that will have to wait for another time.  I’m going to give her a treat and get her settled back in her kennel.  And then …”  He gave Mike a sultry look.  “And then I’m going to come back and take care of you.”

As soon as Harvey unclipped Chupie's leash, she waddled straight to Mike and propped her front paws on his legs.  "It's okay," said Mike, petting the dog.  "Why don't you let her stay out here?"

Harvey regarded him with a bemused expression.  "You prefer an audience?  A canine one at that?  Weird, but … okay.  I can roll with that."

Mike took a bracing sip of scotch.  "Harvey, nothing's going to happen tonight."

Harvey picked up the glass Mike had left for him on the breakfast bar.  He drank, keeping his gaze on Mike.  "Nothing?"

"Nothing.  Except … "  Mike stood up and carried his drink over to the piano.  He heard Chupie's nails click against the hardwood floor as she followed him.  "You're going to prove you can actually play this thing, and that it's not just a pretty decoration for your living room."

"Do you realize what you're turning down?"

Mike nodded.  "I've got a fair idea."  Maybe he was overtired, or maybe Harvey had worn him down, but he surprised both of them by adding, "I'd be open to maybe finishing this another time."

Harvey stared at him, unspeaking, until Mike started to get nervous.  Finally, Harvey nodded, and stalked across the room to take a seat on the piano bench.  "I'm going to remember you said that."  He patted the seat beside him.  "Come sit down and hold my drink for me."

Mike obliged.  He felt Chupie lean against his leg, and then recline partially across his foot.  Harvey pressed his index finger to one of the keys, as if reacquainting himself with the instrument.  Then both hands stretched over the keys, coaxing out a series of leisurely chords. His left hand hung over the keyboard, while his right danced up and down the keys, playing an unadorned major scale which morphed into a loose jazz riff.  His left hand joined in, and the music switched seamlessly from bluesy jazz to a bouncy melody that Mike felt he should have recognized – if he had any familiarity with classical music.

"Bach?" he guessed, and was faintly proud when Harvey nodded.  After a few minutes, he switched to a distinctly different piece.  "Brahms?"  This was a stab in the dark.

"Mozart."

"Ah."  Mike raised a finger in the air.  "Too many notes!"

Harvey's mouth quirked, his only acknowledgement of the weak joke.  Suddenly, he was back to jazz, his left hand pounding out a strong beat, moving octaves at a time, while his right hand tickled a syncopated melody.

"Sounds like … Fats Waller."

Harvey's hands faltered, but he kept playing.  "You know Fats Waller, but not Mozart?"

Mike shrugged.  "I took _History of Jazz_ as an elective."

Harvey stopped playing, took back his drink, and stared at Mike.  "You work two jobs and go to school on top of that?"

"Correction:  I work _three_ jobs, and I got my degree last year."

"In what?"

"Business."

"Why Business?"

"Because I want to start one of my own."

"What kind?"

All of the questions were putting Mike on edge, although he wasn't sure why.  He drained his glass and held it in both hands, staring down at it.  From the corner of his eye, he could see Chupie looking up at him.  "A non-profit, to help ex-cons with all aspects of re-entry."  He kept his gaze resolutely on the glass, reluctant to witness what would probably be Harvey's disappointment, or scorn.

Harvey didn't answer right away, and the silence stretched.  Finally, one hand sought the keyboard again, and he played something soft and silvery.  "That's not what I expected you to say."

"What did you expect me to say?"

"That you wanted to open a bar, or a restaurant, or … I don't know."  The music continued, wrapping sad, delicate strands around them.

"No.  This is something near to my heart."

"You had a hard time of it, then?  After prison?"

Mike didn't like to think about those months, but he gave Harvey an honest answer.  "It was hard, yeah, even with what assistance was provided.  It's just all so piecemeal, you see.  I had to go to one agency for one problem, and to another for the next issue that came up.  I would have appreciated some sort of 'one-stop shopping,' so to speak.  That's what I'm planning to do.  I'm hoping there'll be some grant money available.  With this new administration, though, I'm not so sure."

"What about start-up costs?"

"I'm working on it."  He met Harvey's inquisitive gaze.  "That's why the job at _The Burn_ is so important to me.  It pays more than any other job I could get with my background.  If I stick with it, and am careful with my spending, instead of five years or more, I might be able to get started in two years or less."  Mike sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.  "Which is why I shouldn't be here with you.  You say you wouldn't tell anyone, but these things have a way of getting around, whether we want them to or not.  We might be careful at first, but eventually, one of us is bound to slip up somehow."

Harvey was scowling at him now, and looking almost … startled?  Mike was too tired to figure out what that meant.  He needed to get out of here before he did something stupid, like agreeing to spend the night.

"Anyway."  He stood up and carried his glass to the kitchen, as Chupie padded along behind him.  "Thanks for the concert.  I’ll stipulate to the fact that you can, indeed, play.  And I'll see you Monday morning."

As Mike put on his jacket and picked up his helmet, Harvey sat as if frozen, eyes on his hands, which rested on the keyboard.  Tempting as it was to cross the room again, and kiss him goodbye, Mike turned regretfully to the door.  "See ya."

He didn't hear anything in reply, so he squatted to give Chupie a goodbye scritch.  When he got out in the hallway, and had pushed the button for the elevator to take him down to the parking garage, he heard a loud, discordant crash of noise, as if Harvey had slammed his hands down onto the piano keys.

 

******

 

Harvey carefully closed the keyboard cover, then got up and wandered into the kitchen, where he stared blankly down at the nearly empty bottle of Macallan on the counter.  He had drunk more tonight than he intended, effectively negating all his work at the gym this week.  No more drinking, he lectured sternly to himself, at least not until he was back in shape. 

He thought about pouring the rest of the expensive scotch down the sink, but eventually shrugged and left if where it was.  He got ready for bed, trying to keep his mind blank, resolutely refusing to think about how this night was supposed to have ended.

In bed, Chupie did not immediately dive under the covers, as was her habit.  Sitting on his chest, she gazed at him, eyes liquid and sad, as if asking where the nice man from earlier had gone.

"I know," he murmured to her, gently scratching behind one ear.  "It's not you, it's me.  I'm sorry to inform you that your daddy is a bit of an asshole."

She took the news in stride, and pawed at the comforter, ready now to assume her usual position.  He let her get settled, and smoothed the comforter over her as she slumped against his leg.

He'd been pushing Mike all night – all week, to be accurate – because he'd wanted his own needs met.  He hadn't thought much about Mike as a person, having assumed that like any red-blooded male, he was interested in sex.  And he was.  Harvey had seen clear evidence of attraction on Mike's part.  His ambivalence and pushback against Harvey had been both challenge and turn-on.  Now, however, having heard Mike's plans for the future, Harvey could understand his reluctance to risk his new job.

Those plans had taken Harvey by surprise.  Mike had ambition.  More importantly, his heart seemed to be firmly in the right place.  He wasn't out to make money.  He wanted to help people.  And he'd earned a college degree while holding down several jobs, so not just a dumb gym rat.

Add to all that the way Mike had spoken, as if a hook-up tonight assumed an ongoing relationship.  Harvey hadn't had any such intentions.  Thinking about it now, he felt like the worst sort of predatory creep.  He'd managed to conveniently forget that the same rules did not apply as those on a Saturday night in the local meat market, where brief encounters and one-night stands were the norm.  From everything he had learned about Mike tonight, it sounded as if he didn't think in those terms.

The most disturbing revelation of the night was self-directed.  Discovering that Mike wanted a relationship, Harvey found that the idea appealed to him too.  After Matthew, he'd sworn he would never go down that road again.  If he did, someone like Mike could be the one to lure him back.  He couldn't bear the heart-shattering pain of a break-up, and he didn't want to become attached to someone, only to be forced to learn how to be lonely all over again.

Harvey sighed.  Underneath the covers, Chupie _whuffed_ and snuggled closer to him, as if telling him to get over himself and go to sleep.  He tried to follow her implied advice, but it was a long time before he managed to fall asleep.  He kept remembering how Mike had looked on that low-slung motorcycle, holding the roughly purring engine between his long legs.  Harvey had nearly missed more than one turn as he kept an eye on him in the rearview mirror.

He finally gave in to need and shoved a hand down his pajama bottoms, jerking off quickly and efficiently while his mind spun out a different conclusion to the night, starting with Harvey on his knees with Mike's cock in his mouth.

Chupie barely flinched when he came explosively with a low curse on his lips.  After six months of his pathetic, solitary hand jobs, she was used to them by now.

 

******

 

Mike made good on his promise to himself to stay in bed all day Sunday, except for occasional necessary trips to the bathroom and kitchen.  He sank down into glorious, blissful sleep, unencumbered by worries about making his rent, or feeding himself without dipping into his meager savings.  Thoughts of Harvey wove themselves through his dreams, and he woke up more than once with his hand wrapped around his hard dick.  He didn’t even try to deny himself the relief of jacking off to images and imaginings of Harvey, and came grunting his name into the pillow.

When he finally dragged himself out of bed, it was dark outside, and a light rain was falling.  He picked up his phone, splurged on a pizza from his favorite place in the neighborhood, and ate in front of the television, while staring at the rerun of some show he couldn’t follow.  He kept thinking about Harvey, and second-guessing every decision he had made last night.  Maybe he should have spent the night, given in to his curiosity and desire.

He grinned, remembering Harvey’s dog, Chupie.  She had surprised him.  He hadn’t pictured Harvey as a person who tolerated pets, particularly not a chubby little thing like that, with greying muzzle and boundless affection for everyone and everything.   Before last night, if asked to make a guess about a pet Harvey might choose, he would have guessed something elegant like an afghan, or pharaoh hound, or borzoi.  Or, since he’d need to consider the size of his home, perhaps something like a Jack Russell terrier, or a French bulldog.

This line of thought led him to wonder what Harvey’s ex had been like.  No, not just his ex – his fiancé.  Mike recalled now that Harvey said his fiancé had cheated on him.  That had to have been a painful blow.  Maybe that explained why he’d stopped taking care of himself.    How long had they been together?  Judging by the amount of grey in Chupie’s muzzle, it must have been quite a few years.  Mike tried and failed to imagine being with someone for so long. 

Was Harvey on the lookout for his next fiancé?   Mike rejected that idea almost immediately.  You didn’t make lewd remarks about someone’s ass if you were hoping for a long-term relationship.  Even Mike, with his limited experience, knew that.  The alternative, if you reasoned things out to their logical conclusion, was depressing.  Harvey saw Mike as merely another notch on his bedpost.  Last night, Mike had come close to agreeing to become that notch.

At ten o’clock, he turned off the television and went back to bed.  He hadn’t resolved anything, but he could at least face Monday morning with a clearer head.

 

******

 

“Did you have a good Sunday?” Harvey asked Mike as they met up at the front desk of _The Burn_ Monday morning.  He was smiling, but the warmth had been dialed down since the last time they were together.

“I did,” responded Mike guardedly.  “I caught up on my sleep.  Watched a little TV.  Just another day in the thrilling life of Mike Ross.”  He blew out a quick breath, surprised by the sudden bitterness that had bubbled up.  In a more neutral tone, he asked, “And how was yours?”

Harvey’s smile was rueful.  “I went for my first run in nearly a year.”

“Oh?  Good for you.  How did if feel?”

“Agonizing.  But … virtuous.”

“Definitely keep it up,” Mike advised, impressed and pleased that Harvey had actually followed his advice.  He led the way to the weight room.  “Just don’t – ”

“I know.  Don’t overdo it.  Excellent advice, with many applications.”

“Right.” 

Harvey seemed to be trying to communicate something to Mike – or maybe to himself.  Whichever, it was too early in the day for Mike to puzzle it out.  He handed Harvey two twenty-pound hand weights, reminded him of the proper form for bicep curls, and the workout was underway.

Neither man seemed inclined to break the silence again, except to give instructions, or seek clarification, until the hour was nearly over.  Harvey was grunting his way through a series of walking lunges, on legs probably still sore and rubbery from his run the previous day.  Mike halted him, consulting the clock on the wall to time the thirty second recovery phase.

Taking Mike by surprise, Harvey blurted, “Remind me: what’s your third?”

“Third what?”  Mike frowned at him.

“Your third job.  You said you had three.  This one, the bartending gig, and … what else?” 

Mike knew he didn’t owe Harvey an answer, but after the barest hesitation, he gave him one anyway.

“I teach some classes at the Adult Education Center.”

“Ah.  Finally, a pattern emerges.  And a new fantasy.”  He grimaced.  “Sorry.  Habit.  What do you teach?”

Mike laughed lightly.  “Nothing the least bit sexy, I assure you.  I give workshops on resume writing, job hunting, and basic English grammar.  The pay barely covers the gas to get there, but it’s good practice for my mythical business.”

“Why mythical?”

Thirty seconds and more had passed, but Mike didn’t move as he considered the question.  He shrugged.  "Some days it feels like just another stupid dream that won’t come to pass.”

“Another?  What dreams have you had in the past?”

Mike really did not want to get into this with him.  “Ten more lunges.  Keep your movements slow and smooth.”

He counted out the lunges for Harvey, and then stopped him for another recovery period.  He didn’t give Harvey a chance to continue his cross-examination, speaking first this time.

“Is this why you became an attorney?  Because you enjoy the relentless questioning?”

“No.  Not even close.  And I suppose I should apologize.  I’m only being nosy because you interest me.”

“Huh.  Well, let me ask you something.  Why did you become an attorney?  Why not follow in your father’s footsteps?”

Harvey frowned thoughtfully.  “I enjoy music, but not the same way my father did.  To him, it was blood, and breath, and his reason for being alive.  I guess I had other interests that took precedence.”

“Ten more lunges.”

Harvey panted and muttered his way through the final set.

“That’s good,” praised Mike.  “Your form was perfect up until those last two.”

“Next time, they’ll all be perfect.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”  Mike glanced at the clock.  “That’s all I had for you today, but you have five minutes remaining in the hour.  Is there something you’d like to try before we quit?”

Harvey grabbed Mike’s arm, and guided him over to the wall, out of the way of other members and their trainers.

“What I’d like to do is finish answering your last question, since you’re so curious.  I became an attorney for two reasons.  Well, three, actually, but they’re all related.  First, I like the finer things in life, as you may have noticed.  Second, I don’t feel completely alive unless I’m imposing my will over other people.  Third, my first choice of profession did not pan out.”

“And what was that?  Music?”

“No.  You haven’t been paying attention.  The first time I discovered need number two, was when I was playing baseball.  I had a killer pitching arm, and by the time I was in high school, I’d already been scouted by two professional baseball organizations.”

“You were that good?”

“I was.  I had the arm, and the talent, and I had the cold-blooded ruthlessness to take advantage of both those things.  Unfortunately, the human body has its limits.”

“You blew out your arm.”

“I blew out my arm.  Maybe I could have come back from it, but I never would have been the same pitcher.  No way was I going to half-ass it.”

“So, you straightaway enrolled in law school?”

“No I straightaway decided it was all over for me.  I got a job in the mailroom at a law firm.  And yeah, maybe I was the best damn mail clerk that place – or any other – had ever seen, but I was miserable.  Luckily for me, Jessica Pearson saw something in me, and convinced me to stop feeling sorry for myself and get back on the horse.”

“She sent you to law school?”

“Yep.  Best investment she ever made.”

Mike rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help smiling.  “There’s that ego again.”

“Now, I told you about my failed dream.  Let me hear about yours.”

Mike felt as if he had just been led into the most obvious of traps.  A glance at the clock showed him they only had a minute or so left before his next appointment.  “Fine.  If you laugh, we’re doing sixty minutes on the stability ball next time.”

Harvey crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall.  “I promise I won’t laugh.”

“I wanted to be a lawyer.  I even got into Harvard.  Had my acceptance letter and everything.”

“And then you got caught dealing drugs?”

“No.  I got caught helping a friend cheat on a test.  The Dean of Admissions at Columbia had me basically black-balled for life from Harvard, not to mention expelled from Columbia.”

“This friend … was that the same one that you were doing the favor for when you were arrested?”

“The same.”

“I hope you cut him out of your life.”

Mike shrugged, feeling the same bitter taste in his mouth that he always got when thinking about Trevor.  “I contacted him after I got out of prison, hoping for … I don’t know what I was hoping for.  A place to stay, maybe, or a loan.  He informed me that he couldn’t afford to have me in his life anymore, because I was a bad influence.”

“He sounds like a real dick.”

“Yeah, well, anyway.  I see my next victim waiting.  Good session today.”

“See you Wednesday.”

Mike watched Harvey walk away, toward the locker room, with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.  Why had he told Harvey that story?  Why had he confessed to the best lawyer in Manhattan that he’d wanted to be a lawyer himself at one time?  It was like telling Meryl Streep he’d once been in a school play, or telling Baryshnikov he’s achieved high score on _Dance Dance Revolution_.  Harvey probably thought less of him now than he had before.  Trying to convince himself it didn’t matter, he threw himself into his next client’s session with more enthusiasm than usual.

The bitter taste in his mouth remained, as did the memory of Harvey’s own confession about the need to impose his will.  Was that what this was all about?  The incessant flirting and insistence that Mike break the club rules and sleep with him?

Although, now that Mike thought about it, he hadn’t done much of either today.  This realization left him feeling perversely insulted and disappointed.  Perhaps, having learned more about Mike, Harvey no longer considered him “one of the finest things” in life.  Not that he cared.  They’d had their little flirtation.  They’d been to the brink.  Each of them could be grateful that it hadn’t gone any farther.

 

******

 

It was another exhausting week for Mike.  He enjoyed being a personal trainer, and motivating people to do a little more, and then a little more after that.  He discovered that while joking around with his clients was fun, he achieved better results with a sterner approach.  He never yelled at the members, as he’d heard more than one other trainer do, but he rarely allowed them any slack, unless he sensed they were at their breaking point.  He received nice feedback from some of them, via Roger and Rafe, which helped him get over the hump of Wednesday and propel him through the rest of the week. 

Harvey seemed notably more subdued the next two times Mike saw him.  The scant number of words they exchanged dealt exclusively with the workout, and did not veer into personal territory, leading Mike to speculate that Harvey had already found someone else more responsive to his advances.  Good for him.  Mike only hoped whoever it was appreciated Harvey, and was kind to Chupie.

Friday night before he left for _Casper’s_ , he fired up his Cloudbook and opened the spreadsheet he’d created three years ago.  He tinkered with it for a while, changing his projected earnings, and ultimately determined that even with his new job, he was still at least three years away from having the minimum amount he’d estimated it would take to get his non-profit off the ground.

“Well, that’s depressing,” he muttered.  Maybe he should look into picking up more hours at the bar.  He currently had Tuesday evenings open, Saturday afternoons, and Sundays.  It made him tired just thinking about it, but clearly he was not optimizing his earning potential if these unused spots existed.

Alternatively, he could look for some way to slash expenses.  He pictured all of the packages of ramen and mac ‘n cheese in his cupboard, and shook his head.  His grocery budget was already close to the bone.  He needed his phone, and the Harley.  Maybe he should consider selling his bicycle.  He didn’t need it anymore for work.  He’d bought it used, but it was a good bike, with a lot of miles left on it.  Still, he’d be lucky to get three hundred for it.

As he wracked his brain to come up with a way to earn more money, something occurred to him that made him laugh.  Everyone was always telling him how impressive his abs were, and the rest of his toned physique.  He’d never been terribly graceful, but how much talent did you have to have to strip?  He shook his head again, grinning in spite of himself even as he dismissed the idea.  “Last resort only,” he muttered, grabbed his jacket and helmet, and headed out the door to work.

 

******

 

Harvey took the week to consider what to do about Mike.  After coaxing more information out of him on Monday, he backed off for the rest of the week.  He didn’t want to complicate Mike’s life, but he found that he liked the guy more and more, every time he saw him.  He was reasonably sure Mike felt the same way about him.

If they’d met ten years ago, before Mike went to prison, he might have been tempted to take him under his wing and “save” him, maybe sponsor Mike the way Jessica had done for him.  However, Mike did not give off any “save me” vibes.  He knew what he wanted out of life, and was working to get it.  Plus, he could probably bench press Harvey if he put his mind to it.  Even so, Harvey couldn’t stop himself from pondering ways to ease Mike’s way.  He didn’t mention any of these thoughts to Mike.  There was no hurry.

In the meantime, work was grueling.  Twice during the week, he had to text June, the dogwalker, and ask her to add an evening walk for Chupie, while he stayed late at the office to put out fires and wrestle rebellious clients back into the fold. 

He and Louis were finally making some headway, and a few of the new associates were actually earning their ridiculous salaries.  Katrina, a strong candidate for junior partner, had proven invaluable, as had Rachel Zane, the paralegal who, in his opinion, should have gone to law school, but had refused all offers of assistance.

Saturday night, he stood staring into his closet, debating for long minutes how to spend his night.  Realistically, he knew that two weeks of workouts and runs had not noticeably altered his appearance.  His confidence was back, though.  He believed he could go back to that club and have his pick of beautiful young men.  He just had to stand up straight, flash his expensive watch a few times, and exert his will, just like he did every day in the boardroom and the courtroom.  But then what?  He’d screw some guy’s brains out, and then send him on his way.  That had always been the goal, before Matthew.  Now, it sounded … pointless.

No, he knew exactly where he wanted to go, and who he wanted to spend the night with. 

Which is why, at nine o’clock, he found himself sliding onto the same barstool at _Casper’s_ , after making a quick detour to hand a slip of paper to the karaoke host.  Harvey smiled happily at Mike, who smiled right back, a spark of reckless joy in his pretty blue eyes.  It was a good look on him.

“The usual?” asked Mike.

Harvey chuckled and shook his head.  “I’m watching my calories.  I’ll have a sparkling water with lime.”

“Yes, sir.  Coming right up.”

He set the water in front of Harvey, and they watched and listened in companionable silence to two singers who weren’t half bad, performing a duet of some country and western song Harvey should have known, but didn’t.  The crowd was still light at this time of night, which did not stop his stomach from clenching with nerves and misgivings.  What had he been thinking?  Maybe he should have had some scotch after all.

There was no time to correct the oversight.  Jim thanked the singers, to sparse applause, and announced that Harvey would be up next.  He had his gaze on Mike, whose eyes widened as he mouthed, _you?_ Harvey nodded and strolled up to the stage, striving to appear casual and calm, as if he did this all the time.

“Harvey,” said Jim, “is performing ‘Body and Soul.’  Give it up for Harvey.”

This wasn’t the old Ella Fitzgerald standard, but rather a relatively newer version by Anita Baker.  He’d asked Jim to lower the key to accommodate his voice.  As the intro music began, he wiped a sweaty palm on the leg of his jeans, and plucked the microphone from the stand.  The words appeared on the television screen in front of him.  _What have you done to me?  I can’t eat.  I cannot sleep._

He came in a beat too late, and mangled the first line, but by the second line, his voice strengthened, and he sang with a sultry sureness of which he could only hope Ms. Baker would approve.  He’d lied to Mike, through omission, when he’d implied he couldn’t sing.  His father, it was true, couldn’t sing a note on key, but Harvey had taken after his mother in this respect.

Across the dark room, he could see that Mike had grown perfectly still as he listened to him.  Harvey had put the song in as an impulse, almost as a joke, to get a reaction out of Mike.  The song was one of his favorites, but the words, all of a sudden, seemed too fraught and revealing of things he hadn’t been ready to admit, even to himself.

“I've wasted too much time,” he sang, “Living for what wasn't mine, and then came the day I found you.  And now I want nothing less, I've found a love that Is truly blessed, and I wanna make dreams come true.”

Mike’s expression froze, he turned abruptly away, and Harvey’s brain shorted out.  He wasn’t sure how he got through the rest of the song, but he must have done all right, because the applause from the small crowed sounded enthusiastic.  He fumbled with the microphone as he struggled to get it back into the stand.  Unfortunately, Jim chose this moment for one of his pot breaks, and so Harvey had no cover as he stepped down from the tiny stage and made his way back to the bar.

Mike still had his back turned, pulling glasses from the dishwasher and placing them on the shelf.  Harvey sipped his water, lubricating his dry mouth, and waited for the verdict.  When Mike finally turned around his expression remained closed off.

Harvey waited for him to say something, anything, and finally came right out and asked, “Well?  Good?  Bad?  Awful?”

Mike pressed his lips together, shook his head back and forth a few times, and then finally met Harvey’s gaze.  “What are you doing, Harvey?  I mean, what the actual fuck was that?”

“A song?  Music?”

“Right.”  Mike drew the word out in obvious skepticism.  “Just a nice little song you heard once.  And why’d you pick that one?  No, you don’t have to answer.  I just … I just want to know something.”

Harvey waited.  “What?  Go ahead.  Ask me anything.”  Defensiveness was making him angry.

Mike glanced to the left, and to the right, but they were alone at the bar.  “Exactly what is it that you want from me?” he hissed.  “I mean, what was that up there?  Why do you insist on fucking with my head?  I thought we’d gotten past all that, this week, but here you are again, invading my work place, singing the love song of all goddamn love songs.  If all you wanted was a quick fuck, you’re working awfully hard for it.  I can recommend several bars, right in this neighborhood, where you could hook up, real quick, with a veritable smorgasbord of people.”

“Christ, Mike.  It was just a song I happen to like.  You’re reading too much into it.”  Even as Harvey snarled the words at Mike, he could just imagine what his old therapist, Dr. Agard, would have had to say about his choice of the song he used to sing for Matthew, when they first began dating.  His subconscious had tripped him up but good this time.   He let out a slow breath and softened his tone.  “I’m sorry.  I made a mistake.  I’ll leave you alone.”  He threw down a twenty-dollar bill for his five-dollar drink and stalked out the door.

Mike had been right about one thing:  if he wanted to get laid, there were other places he could accomplish that.  He started his car and pulled out onto the street, making for one of those places.

 

******

 

 _You fucked that up royally,_ Mike berated himself for the fifth time.  He could have reacted any number of ways to Harvey’s song – taking it as a joke, or a silly romantic gesture than meant nothing, or simply ignoring the lyrics and acknowledging Harvey’s serious singing skills.  Instead, he’d flipped the fuck out.

“Shit,” he bit out, and then smiled tightly at the young woman waiting for her lemon drop.  “Sorry, Lulu.  These things are just kind of a bitch to make.”

Despite his complaint, or more likely because of it, she paid for the completed drink without adding a tip.

Skip showed up early for once (shocker), and Mike was only too glad to get out of there and head home.  As he fired up the Harley and settled into the seat, he couldn’t get Harvey out of his mind.  He could leave things with Harvey as they were right now, but he felt certain that by Monday morning, the weirdness between them would only get weirder.  Better to clear the air now, away from work, and the sooner the better.  Or so he reasoned as he accelerated away from the curb and headed for Harvey’s place.

He was forced to park on the street this time, and had to walk a block and a half to the front door of the building, where the doorman buzzed Harvey for him.  As Mike waited for the response, he worried that Harvey would deny his entry, or worse, that he'd done as Mike had suggested and was off looking for a quick hook-up.  Seconds later, however, the doorman waved him through. 

“Harvey says you can use the private elevator.”  At Mike’s blank look, he pointed him in the right direction.

They hadn’t used this elevator last week.  Maybe it didn’t go all the way to the parking garage.  Maybe Mike had moved up on the Harvey scale since then.  Whatever the case, he had to admit it was kind of cool to step into the smallish car and zip straight up to Harvey’s place.  Just before the doors opened, it occurred (belatedly) to Mike that if Harvey had taken his advice, he could have company with him right now.

Harvey stood there alone, however, waiting for him, still fully clothed, with Chupie sitting at his feet.  He waited until Mike exited the elevator before asking quietly, “What are you doing here?”

Good question, with half a dozen possible answers.  Stalling, Mike squatted down to pet Chupie, who’d padded over to greet him.  Mike looked up at Harvey.  “I came to apologize.”

Harvey shook his head, as if shaking off an annoying insect.  “No need.  I miscalculated.”

Mike rose to his feet again.  “I overreacted.  I’m just … You’ve mastered the art of keeping me off-balance.  I’m not sure I like that.”

Harvey rubbed the back of his neck.  “What is it you want from me, Mike?”

“Ah.  Another good question.”  The answer, he realized, was simple honesty.  And if that’s what he wanted, he could hardly offer anything less in return.  “I like you Harvey.”  He winced inside at how insipid those words sounded.  What were they, in high school?

A shrug and a frown from Harvey.  “I like you too.”  His gaze sharpened.  “Don’t tell me you ever had any doubts about that.”

“No, you’ve made yourself clear from the start.  Maybe I should have made myself clearer.  You should know that I don’t do … I don’t think I could do a one night stand.  I don’t want to fuck around, just for the sake of fucking around.”

Harvey moved into the living room, gesturing at Mike to follow.  They settled into opposite ends of the couch, with the dog between them on the center cushion, licking her paw.  “Okay.  I understand, but what you need to know is that I’m not certain I can offer much more than that.  I recently got out of a ten-year relationship, which ended up about as ugly as these things get.”

“How long ago did you break up?”

“Six months.”

Mike let that sink in.  Six months didn’t sound that recent to him, but what did he know about long term relationships?  “Have you been with anyone since then?”

Harvey’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed.  “No.”  He crimped his lips, looked away, and took a ragged breath.  “I couldn’t – we were supposed to be getting married.”  Tears sprang to his eyes and pooled there, glistening in the lamplight.  “That fucker.”  He sniffed and blinked and blinked.  “I decided, finally, that I needed to move on.  Not into another relationship, though.  All I wanted was a warm body to …”

Harvey shrugged, while Mike mentally completed his sentence:  _a warm body to take away the loneliness for a few hours._ He could sympathize with the strategy, but it unnerved him to know that his was the warm body in question.  The sight of Harvey so close to tears felt like a ragged knife digging into Mike’s guts.  He chewed his lip and weighed the pros and cons of saying _fuck it all,_ and offering himself up.

As if sensing her owner’s distress, Chupie _whuffed_ softly, and clumsily rearranged herself so that she was half-reclining in Harvey’s lap.  Mike watched as Harvey leaned lower and rubbed the dog’s floppy, satiny ears between his long fingers.  His long, elegant fingers, which had tickled the piano keys so lovingly last week, and now sought to soothe the dog who was attempting to soothe him.

The knife twisted inside of Mike, sending … _something_ … bleeding into the air between them.  Mike looked away, tipping his head up in search of sufficient oxygen.  He wanted Harvey.  Badly.  He wanted to trade places with Chupie, crawl into Harvey’s lap and let him do whatever he wanted with him.  He’d be ten times a fool, though, to ignore his own needs for Harvey.  On the other hand, there were needs, and then there were _Needs._

He cleared his throat.  “So, look, Harvey, I’m not on board to be your rebound fling.  Why would I do that to myself?  Why would anybody?  Well, no.  Okay.  Don’t answer that.  I can actually think of plenty of reasons why somebody would want to be exactly that.  Like I said, though, that’s not me.  I don’t fuck around.”

Harvey frowned and moved restlessly, holding Chupie against his thigh.  Mike scooted closer to them and scratched delicately at Chupie’s head, doing the best to ignore the fact that his hand was nearly in Harvey’s lap.

“Still,” Mike resumed, “the fact remains that I like you.  I don’t have a lot of friends these days, and I’d hate to lose what has been developing between us.”  He gave a surprised twitch when Harvey’s hand landed on top of his.

“Then let’s be friends,” said Harvey.

Mike didn’t trust the mischievous shine in Harvey’s eyes.  He waited for the other shoe to drop.

“Friends with benefits.”  Harvey’s thumb caressed the back of Mike’s hand.

Mike’s eyebrows lifted as he absorbed what Harvey, with all appearance of sincerity, had just proposed.

“I’m …”  His breath quickened as Harvey’s fingers trailed up his arm and back down to his wrist.  “I’m not hating the idea,” he managed to choke out.

Harvey’s gaze darkened.  “Glad to hear it.  So, can you stay the night?”

Mike’s mouth fell open.  He had not expected this to be the outcome of his impulsive visit.  Still … he wasn’t hating the idea.  Not entirely.  Was he ready for this, though? 

Harvey’s face loomed suddenly in front of his, and then he was kissing him, sweet and soft and with utter confidence.  Mike let the kiss continue for several seconds before pulling back.

“Stay,” Harvey husked.

It was Harvey’s look of pure _want,_ which mirrored what he was feeling, that swayed him.  “Yes.  Yes, okay.  I can stay.  I should tell you … that is, you need to know …”

Harvey touched the side of his neck, expression filled with kindness.  “Just tell me.”

“Okay.  Uh.  You’ll probably need to take things slow to begin with.  If we do … _that._   Because if you'll recall, it’s my first time.”  He was perspiring once he finally got it all out.

“Understood.”

Mike swallowed nervously.  “Good.  Hey, do you think I could use your shower?  Work always leaves me kind of grimy.”

“What if I like it dirty?”

“Ah.  Ha.  Okay.”  Mike’s pulse accelerated.  He breathed in and out slowly, searching for calm.  He had lost his virginity nearly twenty years ago, but evidently it was about to happen all over again, with Harvey.

Harvey’s face looked utterly serious now, except for his warm brown eyes, which smiled at Mike, probably amused at his obvious attack of nerves.  “Take your shower.  I’ll get Chupie settled and meet you in the bedroom.”  At Mike’s questioning eyebrow quirk, he clarified, “I do not get off on having an audience, canine or otherwise.  Chupie does not need to witness the acts we are about to perform.”

“No.  I suppose … Acts?  What are you …”

“Take your shower.”

Mike went to take his shower.

 

*****

 

“No whining, please,” ordered Harvey as he passed a Pupperoni stick over the top of the three-foot-high metal cage to Chupie.  “Daddy needs some personal time tonight.  If you’re a good girl, I might let you out later.”

Chupie was busy for the moment, holding the stick down with one paw while she gnawed happily away at it.  The kennel that Harvey and Matthew had set up for her was three feet wide and six feet long, containing a bed on one end with a soft blanket to burrow under, next to her food and water dishes.  The other end held a potty pad, just in case, which had gone unused for nearly six months.  Right after Matthew moved out, the dog had seemed to lose dependable control of her bladder for a about a week and half.  Thankfully, she had gotten over her little bout rebellion, or grief, or whatever had been the cause, and was back to her well-behaved self.

“No whining,” repeated Harvey, “and no barking either.”  He left the room and closed the door.

Across the hall, he heard the shower running, and considered barging in to join Mike, imagining him all slippery and soapy.  But no, Mike had seemed skittish enough already.  Let him have a few private moments to regroup.  Harvey froze, staring at the bathroom door.  What if Mike took this time alone to talk himself out of staying?  It surprised Harvey, how upsetting just the possibility of that was.  He’d done what he could, he decided.  They’d reached a compromise of sorts.  If Mike backed out now, Harvey would have to accept it as gracefully as he could.

He retreated to the bedroom, shaking his head at his own thoughts.  When had he ever second-guessed himself this much?  His rejection at the club two weeks ago had thrown him off his game, that much was clear.  Add to that how out of practice he was at said game …  With an impatient scowl, he set about removing his clothes, throwing jeans and Henley and socks into the hamper inside his closet.  After a brief internal debate, he left his boxer briefs on. 

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, he turned sideways and sucked in his stomach, searching his reflection closely for any noticeable improvements.  Maybe his gut had shrunk a little.  Maybe his abs had a touch more definition.  He had just managed to talk himself into believing that he wasn’t a forty-five-year-old disaster area, when Mike strolled into the room behind him, naked and damp and flawless, looking like he was ready to pose for Michelangelo’s next marble masterpiece.

Harvey let out his breath, and his chest and belly fell back to their natural shapes.  He might have made a light joke, but he was too busy staring into the mirror at Mike’s stupidly perfect body, and his beautiful, cut cock, half-hard and purplish-red.

“God,” he heard himself saying without pausing to edit his words, “you’re incredible.”  Immediately he blushed as he took in the contrast between them.

Perhaps Mike was sensitive enough to interpret the undertones of wistfulness and mild shame in Harvey’s voice.  Whatever the case, he walked up behind Harvey, wrapped thick arms around his middle, and rested his chin on his shoulder.  “Right back atcha.  You’re so beautiful, Harvey,” he murmured, kissing his neck.  “You’re maybe the most beautiful person I’ve ever met in real life.”

Harvey suppressed a snort of disbelief and turned around in Mike’s arms.  “You obviously need to get out more.  And stop stealing your lines from _Friends._ ”

He felt Mike’s hands dip down into his underwear to cup his ass cheeks, and hummed his approval.

“Why are you still dressed?” 

Mike stripped the boxer briefs down and off, and then stood still while Harvey held his shoulders for balance and kicked the underwear across the room.  As they stood naked in front of one another, Mike’s moment of confidence visibly collapsed, and an uncertainty bordering on embarrassment appeared to fill him once more. 

It was Harvey’s turn, he realized, to take charge.  He determinedly thrust away all vain thoughts of his own less than perfect physique, and turned his full attention to how best to please Mike.

“Why don’t we lie down?” he suggested, grabbing Mike’s wrist to lead him over to his king-sized bed. 

Mike dropped down on his back in the middle of the bed, opening his arms to allow Harvey on top of him.  Urging himself to take things slow, Harvey brushed Mike’s lips with his fingers, and went in for a kiss.  This part, at least, they had gotten right.  Mike was a good kisser.  Harvey, on the other hand, was a great kisser, or so he’d been told often enough.  He moved his lips over Mike’s, soft and firm, and snaked his tongue neatly between them.  He tasted his own toothpaste on Mike’s tongue, which was a turn-on he had never anticipated. 

A needy growl erupted from the back of Harvey’s throat.  “God,” he muttered, nipping Mike’s lower lip.  “You feel so fucking good.”

He lifted up his hips and reached between them to grasp Mike’s cock, which was hot and hard in his hand.  Chest moving up and down like a bellows, Mike groaned and thrust upward into Harvey’s hand.

“Shit, Harvey,” he gasped.  Don’t.  I’m not gonna last.”

Harvey wasn’t so sure he would either.  He wanted Mike loose and relaxed, though, so he could take his time opening him up.  Chances were good that Mike would be ready to go again by then.  He, on the other hand, was forty-five and out of shape.  His need at the moment was nearly as acute as Mike’s, but he knew the limits of his own self-control, and could handle the delay. 

He’d kept Matthew waiting often enough – although now that he thought about it, maybe Matthew was so fucked out from his affairs that he – Harvey gave his head a rough shake.  _Don’t think about him.  Not now, of all times._

If Mike noticed his lapse of concentration, he didn’t mention it.  When Harvey met his gaze again, Mike gave a helpless smile.  “Seriously.  You’re going to get me off too soon.”

Harvey smiled back at him.  “It’s okay.  This first one’s all about you, all right?  I seem to remember a blow job you never let me finish.”

Mike pushed his head back into the pillow.  “Just the way you say it … _Fuck_.  Give me a second.”  He clutched the comforter in white-knuckled fists and breathed in and out, slow and harsh.  His cock remained erect, pulsing hotly in Harvey’s loose grip, but the lines of strain in his forehead smoothed out.  “Okay.  Not gonna lie.  I may have fantasized about this a time or twenty.”

“Me too.”

Harvey rearranged himself on the bed, moving to kneel between Mike’s spread legs.  Mike’s cock was significantly longer and thicker than Matthew’s.  Before Matthew, he could have handled the size, but he was out of practice.  Luckily, Mike might not notice if his technique was less than spectacular this first time.  He licked a bead of pre-come from his slit, savoring the taste.

Keeping his fist around the base of Mike’s cock, Harvey lowered his mouth over the plum-shaped head, sucking gently and tonguing underneath, in the spot that tended to be most sensitive.  Mike let out an _ahh!_ of surprise, thrust up once, and relaxed back into the mattress, palms cradling Harvey’s head.

Harvey suckled gently, enjoy the musky flavor of Mike, subtly scented with notes of herbs and citrus from his own expensive bath products.  He kept at it until Mike stopped squirming, and then lifted off, smiling at him up the length of his body, and basking in the look of shining pleasure in his blue eyes.

“Did any of your lovers ever give you head, Mike?”

Mike gave him a twisted smile in return.  “Just one.  She tried.  Points for that, but she didn’t really have a –”  he broke off with a strangled squeal when Harvey nosed the base of his cock and licked a slow stripe up the underside.  “Didn’t have a … a genuine feel for it,” Mike finished breathlessly.

“Did she do this?” Harvey whispered, forcing a dry fingertip into Mike’s puckered entrance, and thrusting shallowly in and out.

“N-no.  Oh, god.  More of that, p-please.”

“Lots more.  Absolutely.”  He probed a bit further.  “Come whenever you’re ready.  Don’t worry about me.”  He took a deep breath, relaxed his throat muscles, and went down on Mike as far as he could, breathing in and out through his nose. 

“Jesus,” groaned Mike.  “Oh, jesus god fuck, how …” 

Harvey cradled Mike’s balls in his free hand, and felt them tighten up.

“I’m about to – ”

Harvey gave a terse nod of encouragement, even as he swallowed around Mike’s cock and pumped the base in his fist.  Although Mike was close, he seemed to be fighting against his release, clutching the comforter, and turning his head from side to side.  Harvey lifted his head, now rhythmically jacking the entire length of Mike’s cock, giving a twist at the end of each stroke.

“Come for me,” he urged.

This was apparently all Mike had been waiting for.  He came with a curse and a wail, spilling over Harvey’s fist, body jackknifing at the waist, jerking convulsively.  Harvey had intended to catch his spill in his mouth, and swallow it all, but the sight of it covering his hand and coating Mike’s belly was mesmerizing.  He stroked him through his lengthy orgasm, not letting up until Mike whimpered and begged for him to stop.  Finally, he let him go, sitting back on his heels to watch Mike collapse back into the pillows, panting, eyes shut, occasionally letting out small huffs of amazement.

“Dead,” Mike finally managed.  “I am dead.  And you are amazing.”  His eyes opened, and he peered blearily up at Harvey.  “I hope I can do as well for you.”

“Something tells me you’ll do just fine,” Harvey assured him.  “It will have to wait for another time.  If you’re up for it tonight …”  He paused, feeling uncharacteristically hesitant.  Mike had implied that he wanted this.  Would he object to it now?  “I’d like to fuck you.  With your permission, of course.”

Mike widened his eyes and bared his teeth in what was probably supposed to be a look of comical trepidation.  “Um.  Yes.  Maybe.  You promise to take it slow?  Not gonna lie.  I’m a little bit terrified.”

At Mike’s show of vulnerability, an unexpected wave of tenderness washed through Harvey.  He’d known Mike was new to this, but the full realization hit him now that for the first time in his life, he would be fucking someone who was essentially a virgin.  Nerves fluttered in his belly, but he wrestled them down.  His own first time, when he was seventeen, had been too quick, and unnecessarily painful.  He knew better, and would ensure that Mike’s experience was a good one. 

“You have nothing to be afraid of,” he soothed.  “I’m going to take good care of you.  You can call a pause, or a complete stop at any time.”

“Yeah, but it’s going to hurt, isn’t it?”

“Yes.  It will hurt, up until the point when it doesn’t, if I’m doing it right.  Then, it should just be screaming, flying, pleasure.”

“Huh.  That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“You’re gonna love it.  First, though, let me get this jizz cleaned up.” 

 

******

 

Mike had never experimented with putting anything in his ass – fingers, dildo, vibe, nothing.  So, by the time Harvey was two fingers deep, Mike began quietly panicking.  It fucking hurt, and Harvey’s cock was considerably bigger than his fingers, even two of them.  Mike winced as a third finger squeezed its way in.

“How’s that feel?” asked Harvey for the fifth time.

Instead of the _fine_ Mike had given in response the first four times, he opted for honesty.  “Feels weird.  A lot of pressure.  A _lot_ of pressure.  Ah.  Shit, shit, shit.  I’m not sure this is going to work.”  He was panting, wrestling with his _fight or flight_ instinct.

Harvey made a noise similar to the _whuff_ Chupie used sometimes, which made Mike smile in spite of his distress. 

“Do you want me to stop?”  Harvey was probably trying to sound kind, but Mike clearly heard the thread of impatience and disappointment in his strained voice.

“No.  Keep going.  You promised it would feel good eventually, and I believe you.”  Something occurred to him.  “Maybe if you aimed for my – ”

Before he could finish his thought, Harvey curled his fingers and brushed against Mike’s prostate.

“Oh!” he yelled in surprise.  “Mother _fucker_.”

“Not if you paid me a million dollars.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”  A brief silence.  “Sounds like I found Mr. Happy.”

“Do it again,” Mike demanded.

Harvey did it again, and kept doing it.

“Oh, fuck,” Mike bit out.  “Oh, shit.  Fuck.”  He was about to ask Harvey if this was the screaming part he had mentioned earlier, but before he could, Harvey made direct, prolonged contact, and Mike answered his own question by letting out a long, sustained screech of pleasure.  At some point between cringing away from the intrusion, and bearing down eagerly on Harvey’s fingers, the pain had subsided, just as Harvey had promised.  Pressure remained, but it was the sort of pressure that demanded _more,_ and _harder,_ and _faster._

“Let’s do this,” Mike panted.  “Fuck me.  I want it.  I need you inside me.” 

On and on Mike babbled, even as Harvey withdrew his fingers, rolled a condom over his hard cock, and lubed himself up.

“Next time,” said Harvey, voice raw and strained, “we’ll do this face to face.  I’m too close right now, and it will be easier for both of us if I take you on your knees this first time.”

Mike was watching Harvey’s face closely as he spoke, but comprehension lagged.

“Mike?  Roll over for me.”

“Oh.  Right.  Okay.”  He rolled onto his stomach and let Harvey arrange him on his knees, spreading them as far apart as they would go.  Mike grabbed a pillow to his chest and rested his head on his folded arms. 

He thought he’d been ready for Harvey, but as the head of his cock breached him, he gasped and bit his lip. 

“Too intense?” asked Harvey.

“No.  Yes.  Give me a second to get used to the idea.”  It wasn’t the idea, so much as the actual reality of having another man's dick inside him that had Mike tensing up.  He wanted to reach for his own dick and stroke himself off, but couldn’t seem to move.

Harvey’s hand smoothed down his back, once, and again, and again.  He kissed down the side of Mike’s neck and whispered soothing words in his ear, the warmth of his breath making Mike tremble with desire.  And then Harvey began to sing softly, the same song from the bar, husky and smoky and gorgeous, and it should have been cheesy and ridiculous, but every remaining defense Mike possessed crumbled.  His body opened up and let Harvey in, and everything about it was wonderful.

Harvey began to move, slow and steady, gradually speeding, seeming to always be aware of the exact pace Mike needed.  He reached beneath Mike to coax him to orgasm once more.  It built and built and builit, and then ignited like a flash of heat lightning that seared through his nerve endings in seconds.  The pain, and even the screaming pleasure were over, leaving him with a sense of flying.

He was distantly aware that Harvey had come, loudly and violently, filling the condom with hot pulses.  And then Mike collapsed, and even though Harvey fell onto him, weighting him to the mattress, it was a long while before Mike’s spirit drifted back to Earth to rejoin his body.

 

******

 

Mike came twice more before he left Harvey’s condo at eight the next morning.  The first time, Harvey, lay on top of him, both cocks lined up in his hands, and stroked them off together.  The final time, Harvey claimed he was too tired to get it up again, and asked Mike if he would bring himself off while he watched.  He was past feeling self-conscious, existing in a headspace where he would have done just about anything Harvey asked of him.  So, he knelt up on the bed, took himself in hand, and coaxed his weary cock to another orgasm.

A couple of Kleenex were all it took for Harvey to clean him up this time.  Then, “Beautiful,” Harvey muttered sleepily, gathered Mike into his arms, and fell asleep.

When Mike woke up a few hours later, Harvey was dead to the world.  Reasoning that he desperately needed to catch up on his sleep, which would be impossible once Harvey woke up, Mike carefully disentangled himself from Harvey’s arms and legs, tip-toed around the condo gathering his clothes, and got dressed.

He heard Chupie give a couple of whining _whuffs_ behind the closed door, and he felt bad leaving her without saying goodbye, but didn’t feel right about taking her outside without Harvey’s permission.  Maybe next time – if there was a next time – they could establish the boundaries and expectations of their relationship.

_Friends with benefits._

It had felt like so much more than that to Mike, but Harvey had made his feelings clear on the whole relationship issue.  Having a friend like Harvey certainly held appeal.  The benefits weren’t bad either.  Maybe Mike could live with this.

As he shame-walked his way out of the building, followed by the barely concealed smirk of the doorman, he wasn’t convinced.  It was early days, though.  Things had a way of working themselves out, unless they didn’t.

The rough, rumbling vibration of the Harley’s engine between his legs and against his sore ass was a reminder all the way home to Brooklyn of what he’d been up to all night.  And the hell of it was, by the time he got home, he was half-hard again.

 

******

 

Disappointingly, Mike made his escape before Harvey woke up.  Another round in the light of day would have been nice.  Harvey couldn’t complain though.  Not much, anyway.  He stretched his legs, and threw his arms over his head, feeling the residual aches from a night well and athletically spent. 

He couldn’t remember such an amazing bout of sex, even with Matthew in their early days.  Every touch of Mike, every orgasm, only made him greedy for more.  It was astonishing and invigorating – but also worrying.  He could not allow his strong attraction to Mike lure him into anything long term.

A sharp bark from the utility room made him curse as he realized he’d slept in until nearly nine, and Chupie was probably about ready to burst.  Rising to his feet with a groan, he opened his dresser, reached for an old pair of sweats, and changed his mind.  For keeping her locked up all night, he owed Chupie more than just a quick walk up and down the sidewalk in front of the building.  He exchanged the sweats for jeans and a v-neck sweater, put on socks and sneakers, made a quick trip to the bathroom, and went to free Chupie, who was doing her desperate dance at the door of the kennel.

“Yes, sweetie.  I’m so sorry.  We’re going right now.”  He opened the kennel and she vaulted the three-inch high metal edge with her customary pudgy-legged grace.  “Front door,” Harvey urged, leading the way.  He grabbed her leash, a poop bag, and his jacket, and took her down to the lobby in his private elevator.  With a wave to Horace, the doorman, he hustled her outside.

Chupie took care of her most pressing need behind the shrubbery halfway down the block.

“You up for a longer walk this morning, girl?”

Her answer was to prance in place for a few seconds, and then take off at a waddling run in the direction of the pocket park four blocks from Harvey’s building.  His long legs kept up easily with her much shorter ones.  It wasn’t the strenuous run he had planned for today, but the ten-year old mini dachshund could still work up a decent speed when she wanted to, and by the time they reached the park, Harvey was breathing hard.

The air was chilly, but overhead the sky was blue, and it promised to be a lovely fall day.  Harvey stopped at the cart at the entrance to the park to buy himself a coffee and a bagel, and braced himself for the inevitable barrage of questions.

June still brought Chupie here most days when it wasn’t raining, but he himself hadn’t visited the park since Matthew left.  His ex had known all of the names of the dogs and their owners who hung out here.  Harvey knew them enough to talk to them, but hadn't bothered to remember most of their names.

His appearance caused a minor ripple of interest.  Several people came over to chat with him, and tell him how sorry they'd been to hear about Matthew leaving.  He smiled and countered their questions with bland small talk.  Meanwhile, their dogs caught up on neighborhood news via prolonged butt-sniffing. 

Already bored, and deciding this had been a mistake, Harvey was searching for some graceful means of escape, when he heard a surprised yell behind him, and then another, slightly more panicked.  As he began to turn, he caught a flash of wiry black and tan fur speeding his way.  The excited German shepherd bumped heavily against him as it made straight for Chupie, mouth pulled back in a snarl, exposing rows of sharp teeth.  Harvey yanked on Chupie’s leash, but the other dog’s jaws were already closing.

 

******

 

Mike had a quiet Sunday, once more spending long hours in bed to catch up on his sleep.  During his conscious moments, he debated calling or texting Harvey.  His nerve endings were still tingling from the previous night, and his ass remained pleasantly sore, but he was mindful that they’d both agreed to keep things casual.  He would be seeing Harvey Monday morning anyway, so why tip his hand and act overly clingy, when all he needed was less than a day's worth of patience?

He went into work the next morning with an extra spring in his step.  Rafe commented on his "disgustingly good mood," and in return, Mike gave him what he hoped was an enigmatic smile.

Six o'clock arrived, with no Harvey.  By ten after, Mike’s mood had plummeted.  Was Harvey really going to play it this way?  He grumbled his annoyance to Rafe.

"Don't worry about it, Mike.  He didn't cancel early enough.  Didn't even call.  He still gets charged, and you still get paid for the hour.  You can go relax in the break room.  If you want to rack up some brownie points with Mr. B., you can hang out on the floor and answer any questions the other members might have."

Mike chose the latter, mostly to take his mind off his disappointment over Harvey not showing up.  Every other day, he had been strictly on time, even a little early once or twice.  And now?  After he'd gotten what he wanted from Mike?  Harvey obviously had enough money not to worry about what it cost him to break the appointment.  Hell, he could even go join another health club without batting an eye, if he truly wanted to avoid Mike.

The thing was, he hadn't seemed like a man to take the coward's way out of anything.  Even if he never wanted a repeat of the night they'd shared, Mike doubted that he would hesitate to stroll in here, look Mike right in the eye, and act as of nothing of any importance had taken place Saturday night.

As he helped adjust the weights on a machine for one of the members, Mike couldn't get past the idea that something extraordinary had happened with Harvey.  Something special.  He winced at the word even as he thought it.  Still, no one he'd been with before had affected him the way Harvey had – none of the women, not Charlie. 

At seven, his next regular appointment arrived, and he forced himself to stop moping and show her a little enthusiasm and energy, since she was paying well enough for it.  As the day progressed, he managed to put Harvey out of his mind.  When his last session was done, however, and he was on his way to teach his class, all his doubts and frustrations crashed back in on him.  Why hadn't Harvey at least called the front desk to cancel, if he couldn't stand to talk to Mike?

The class kept him busy, and kept his thoughts safely away from Harvey.  Predictably, after the students had filed out, Karen popped into the room to catch up with him. 

“How were the future burger flippers of America tonight?” she asked him.

“They were fine, thanks for asking.  How were the tragically narcissistic, selfie-taking phone addicts?”

“Ha ha.  They use actual cameras not phones.”  A corner of her mouth turned down.  “You’re right about the selfies, though.  And the narcissism.  God, and the food.  Can they not eat one fucking meal anymore without recording it for posterity?  And don’t even get me started on the rampant filter abuse.”

Mike attempted a laugh, but he wasn’t in the mood for their usual banter tonight.  “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“It’s not,” she said absently.

Mike could feel her studying him, and turned away, presenting her with his profile.  He fiddled with his bag, but left it closed.  He didn’t need to perform his customary quick change tonight, since he had talked Skip into covering both of their shifts at the bar.  

“How’s the training going?” she asked.

“Fine.  I like it.”

“Uh huh.  And what about that guy … Henry?”

“Harvey.”  He felt himself blush as he said the name.

“Right.  Is he still after you?”

Mike wasn’t sure how to answer that, so he shrugged and hummed noncommittally. 

“Mike?”  Karen stepped closer, staring at his pink cheeks and pinched lips.  Her eyes widened.  “Oh, holy shit."

"Shut up."

"You little slut.  You slept with him, didn’t you?”

He could have lied, but what was the point?  “If you tell your husband, I’ll deny everything.”

“Don't insult me.  I won’t breathe a word, so don’t worry about it.”  She paused, as if waiting for him to say more.  “Well?  I won’t ask for all the details.  Just nod once if it was worth the risk.”

He considered this for a few seconds.  “I don’t regret it.  It’s just …”

“Just what?”

“He didn’t show up for his appointment this morning.  Didn’t even call to cancel.  So, I might not regret it, but it seems like maybe he does.”  Saying it out loud, he felt the full weight of the melancholy he’d been fighting off all day land back on his shoulders. 

“Did you call him to ask what was up?”

“No.”

She gave him a long stare that implied he was being an idiot.  “Maybe don’t jump to conclusions, then.”

“It’s … look, it’s not a big deal.  He doesn’t owe me anything.”

“Uh huh.  The way I see it, you have a choice.  Sulk, and eat your heart out, or suck it up and ask him straight out why he didn’t show.”

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“Sure you can.  It’s like ripping off a band aid.”  She glanced at the clock on the wall.  “Oops.  I’ve got a seminar about to start.  We’ll catch up on Wednesday.”

"Yeah."  Watching her as she left, he exhaled slowly.  He had the night off, and couldn’t think of a single thing that he wanted to do.  Maybe it was a pizza and Netflix sort of night.  Then again, maybe Karen had a point.

He went outside to where his bike was parked, put on his helmet, and settled himself on the seat.  As he started the engine, he pictured the route he normally took home, checked traffic in his side mirror, pulled away from the curb, and headed in the opposite direction he had been visualizing.

His brain knew where he was going, why.  And his dick – definitely his dick, which approved.  His heart did its best to talk him out of it, perhaps because it knew it would take the biggest hit if things did not go well.

Ten minutes later, he was parked outside Harvey's building, sitting on his Harley in the chilly fall night, wishing, for the first time since he'd left prison, that he had a cigarette.  Was he really going to do this? Was he going to confront the man because he'd missed one training appointment?  The more he thought about it, the more pathetic it sounded. 

"This," he muttered sternly to himself, "is why you don't fuck around."  He touched a finger to the key in the ignition, and pulled it away again when the front door of the building opened and let out a familiar figure with a ... not quite familiar smaller figure.  Mike's breath caught at the sight, and all the pieces fell into place.

He climbed off the bike and pulled off his helmet, letting it swing from one hand as he made his way up the sidewalk.  When he was a few feet away, Harvey noticed him, and looked up to give him a blank stare, as if trying to remember who Mike was.  He blinked, and his wide mouth stretched into a smile.  A second later, the smile froze, and chagrin replaced the look of pleased recognition.

"Ah, damn it, Mike.  I forgot to call this morning, didn't I?"

"Don't worry about it."  Mike shifted his gaze to Chupie, who wobbled visibly as she squatted to pee, overbalanced as she was by the plastic cone around her neck.  When she was done, he crouched down next to her, seeing now the half a dozen or so stitches on one shoulder, the patch of shaved fur, and the ugly scab which had formed.  "Hey, peanut."  He let her sniff his hand, and gently touched her back.  "What happened to you?" He shifted his questioning gaze up to Harvey.

Harvey sighed.  "Want to come up?  I'll tell you the whole gruesome story."

Mike rose smoothly to his full height.  "Sure." 

Harvey carefully scooped the dachshund up and cradled her with both arms.  The doorman let them into the building, holding the door and telling Chupie to, "hang tough, little princess."

They rode the elevator up in silence.  Mike had a dozen questions he wanted to ask, but held them back. 

The first thing he noticed in Harvey's condo was the dog bed that had been placed on the middle cushion of the black leather couch.  Newspapers were spread on the coffee table, which now held water and food dishes, two prescription bottles, a tube of cream, and a Ziploc bag filled with what looked like broken up bits of pepperoni sticks.  Harvey placed Chupie on the bed and fussily rearranged a soft blanket so that it covered her haunches.  She whimpered once, and was quiet, seeming to fall asleep.

"The pills make her groggy," Harvey commented, the corners of his mouth pulled down. 

He finally met Mike's gaze.  He had distinct circles under his eyes, leading Mike to conclude that he hadn't slept much last night.

"Have you eaten?" Mike asked.

Harvey waved off the question.  "I'm fine."

"I'm taking that as a no."

"Really, Mike – "

"Well, I haven't eaten, and I'm hungry.  I'm going to order us some pizza – my treat – which you're more than welcome to share.  Okay?"

Harvey nodded.  "Want a beer?"

Mike already had his cell phone out.  "Sounds good."

 

******

 

Recounting to Mike what had happened Sunday morning, Harvey relived the panic and anger he had successfully pushed away until now.

"Apparently, the shepherd had shown signs of aggression before.  This is according to June, my regular dog walker.  He's a young dog, strong-willed, and his owner's idea of walking him is to allow herself to be dragged along wherever he wants to go."  He sighed, and took a drink of beer.  "He slipped his leash while she stopped to talk to a friend.  I have no clue why he went after Chupie.  He charged straight for her, picked her up by the neck and shook her."

"Fuck," Mike breathed, with a look of sympathetic horror on his face.  "How did you get him off her?"

Harvey had to chuckle.  He still couldn't believe it.  "I punched him in the face."

"You punched the dog?"

"Yeah.  Old habits, I guess.  He dropped her straight away and scampered back out of the way, tail between his legs.  By then, his owner caught up, all apologies, and took charge of him.  The damage was done, though.  Chupie was bleeding and going into shock.  Someone looked up an emergency vet in the neighborhood.  I wrapped Chupie up in my jacket and ran the whole way."

"How far was it?"

"Five blocks."  He still wasn't sure how he'd made it, running full out the entire way.  It had to have been pure adrenaline, fueled by blind terror at the thought of losing Chupie.

"Wow."  Mike's pretty blue eyes shone with some undefined emotion.  He raised his bottle and reached across the sleeping dog to click it against Harvey's.  "So, obviously, she lives."

"She lives.  Turns out the damage wasn't as bad as it looked at first.  The shepherd's teeth pierced her outer layer of skin, but didn't go any deeper.  There was no nerve damage, thank God.  They cleaned her up, sewed her up.  Still, they insisted on keeping an eye on her overnight, in case of infection."

"Was the other dog up-to-date on his shots?"

"Yes, and thank goodness his owner had all the paperwork handy.  She faxed it all over right away."

"She's probably afraid of a lawsuit.  Does she know you're an attorney?"

"I doubt it.  I wouldn't sue, regardless.  What would be the point?  If Chupie had been hurt worse ..."  He shrugged, not wanting to think about it. 

"So, you're not going to do anything?"

"I didn't say that."  He smiled grimly.  "I sent the dog's owner a gift certificate for obedience training, with a note stating that if she didn't sign up by Friday, I would be pressing charges."

Mike nodded, looking impressed.  "Sounds like a positive solution all the way around.  That park should be a safer place now."

"Maybe.  I won't be going back there.  And I've instructed my dog walker to stay the hell away."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence.  The pizza arrived, and Mike got up to pay for it while Harvey grabbed plates and napkins from the kitchen.  Harvey turned on the television, and found a Yankees game in progress.

"That reminds me," he said between bites of pizza (with mild surprise that he was hungry after all), "a client gave me a couple of tickets to the Yankees last home game of the season, which is this Friday."  When Mike didn't say anything, he clarified, "I'm asking if you'd like to go with me."

Mike looked away, and suddenly appeared too interested in selecting another slice from the box.  "Sounds fun," he said, not sounding enthused by the idea.

"Don't tell me you're not a fan of baseball."  Something even more disturbing occurred to him.  "Or … Mike?  Are you Mets fan?"

Mike gave a huff of laughter, his mouth pinched in that cute way he had when trying to hold back his full smile.  "No, the Yankees are great.  Well, not so great lately ... but, no.  That's not it."

"What then?  Can't get the night off?"

Setting the slice he was holding carefully back on his plate, Mike let out a sigh that was part groan.  "It's not that.  I’d like to go.  I'm just confused."  He studied Harvey for a few seconds.  "Are you asking me on a date?  Because that sounds dangerously close to relationship territory, which I'm pretty sure you said you didn't want."

"This is the 'friends' part of the arrangement.  Just a couple of guys going to a ball game together.  No big deal.  Right?"

"Two friends who, just two nights ago, had their tongues down each other’s throats, and in various other orifices."  Mike bit his lip.  "Maybe I'm not as sophisticated as you about this kind of stuff."

As Mike spoke, an unpleasant feeling grew in Harvey's gut.  "What are saying, exactly?"

"I'm ... I guess I'm saying this is outside my comfort zone.  I want one thing.  You want something different."

They hadn't been speaking loudly, but the agitation in their voices must have woken Chupie up.  She _whuffed_ and blinked sleepily up at Mike before crawling out of her bed and into his lap.  Harvey watched as Mike petted her, being careful of the cone and her stitches, and speaking to her in low, affectionate tones.  Harvey reached for the bag of treats on the table and handed one to Mike.

"Give her one of these, and she'll love you forever."

Mike gave him a funny look, and held the treat to Chupie.  Her long, pink tongue slurped up the treat.  She rolled onto her back, slipping neatly into the channel between his legs, with the edge of the cone resting on his knees, and her hind feet pressed to his stomach.  Mike rubbed her belly gently. 

Watching how easily Chupie had taken to Mike, how she had demonstrated her trust and utter acceptance of him, something hard and guarded inside of Harvey eased.  It was as if, all of a sudden, he could breathe again.

"Chupie really likes you," he said, striving to keep his tone light.

"According to you, she likes everybody."

"To sniff, and say hello to, sure.  She's a little pickier about whose lap she'll climb into."

"Unlike her dad?"  Mike's eyes shone with humor.

"Hey, I'm picky.  I picked you, didn't I?"

"Thanks?"

Harvey drank down the rest of his beer.  He felt on the verge of saying something, of admitting to something he wasn't ready to admit to, so he chose to let the conversation lapse.

They were both quiet for a time, watching the game and finishing the pizza.  Chupie snorted and _whuffed_ in her sleep, firmly settled on Mike's lap.  During the seventh inning stretch, Harvey, put her bed on the floor and scooted over next to Mike, draping an arm over his shoulders.  After the slightest of hesitations, Mike leaned his head on Harvey's shoulder.  They stayed this way until the game ended.

The Yankees squeaked out a win, and Harvey lifted the remote to turn off the television.  Mike passed Chupie over to Harvey, and got up to use the bathroom.   When he returned, he stood in front of Harvey, shifted his weight from foot to foot, as if debating his next move.

"You never gave me an answer," said Harvey.  "Will you go to the game with me?"

"And you never gave me an answer.  Is it a date?"

Harvey breathed in, and breathed out slowly.  "Okay.  Yes.  It's a date.  And before you ask, yes, I want to continue seeing you.  No promises, you understand."

Mike's pinched smile transformed into a full-fledged grin.  "I think we both know there are no guarantees in life."  He dropped back down next to Harvey, being careful not to wake the dog, grabbed his face with both hands, and kissed him.

They spent a pleasant five minutes making out like that, and then Harvey remembered something.  He pulled away and stared at Mike.  "Hey."

"Hey, what?"

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"I took the night off."

The lascivious look Mike was giving him caused Harvey's dick to harden.  "Did you now?  Interesting."

Mike's eyes went hooded as he stared at Harvey's lips.  "Not so interesting.  I needed a night off."

Another time, Harvey might have teased him, and accused him of showing up here specifically for the purpose of a booty call.  Tonight, he wouldn't risk the fragile détente they had reached.  "Does that mean you can spend the night?"

Mike's answer was to lean in for another scorching kiss.

 

******

 

It felt amazing to have Harvey inside him – and more amazing still to stare up at his beautiful face, and watch his shifting expressions.  He'd prepared Mike with a lazy sort of concentration, as if they had all the time in the world, dark gaze fixed on the spot where his fingers stroked in and out of Mike. 

Finally, he pressed into him, slowly, slowly, but without pause, eyes on Mike’s face.  Fully inside at last, he leaned down to kiss Mike, and then backed off, locking his gaze on Mike’s, his expression now serious and tender, even as his arms trembled on either side of Mike with the effort of holding himself up.

"Move," Mike whispered, caressing Harvey's stomach and chest, and turning his head to kiss one of his shaking arms.  "Put all those push-ups you've done the last couple weeks to good use."

Harvey's serious expression slipped.  He gave a gentle snort.  "Just don't ask me to do walking lunges around the mattress."

"Don't give me ideas.  You look so sexy when you do those.  Why do you think I save them for last?"

They shared a laugh, and then Harvey began to move.  He dropped to his elbows, hands on top of Mike's head, and fucked him slowly, rocking in and out, landing occasional kisses on his forehead and cheeks and mouth.  "Feel so good," he murmured.  "You taste delicious."  He kissed him more deeply, tongue teasing Mike's teeth, and the roof of his mouth. 

Bracing his hands on Mike's chest, he lifted up, hips snapping with more force.  He thumbed Mike's nipples, and pinched them gently until they were hard and sensitive, and then leaned in to worry them with his teeth, one after the other.

"Ah!"  The wordless yell erupted from Mike.  He arched up, panting, and clutched Harvey's ass, wanting him closer, and deeper.

Harvey obliged, holding onto the headboard, and slamming into Mike, eyes darkening, gazing at Mike with such intensity he almost appeared angry.  Mike grabbed Harvey's arms, wrapped his legs around Harvey's back, and matched his movements to Harvey’s, thrusting up in perfect rhythm. 

"Touch yourself," Harvey managed to get out.  He was breathing harshly.  "Want you to come first."

Mike fisted his cock and jerked himself off.  Harvey paused his movements to watch him.  Moments earlier, Mike would have thought it impossible, but Harvey's eyes darkened even further, to almost an inky black. 

"Yeah," Harvey murmured.  "That's it."  He rubbed Mike's nipple, a featherlight touch that seemed to explode through Mike’s body.

Mike's hand sped up.  He pushed his head back into the pillows, and looked straight into Harvey's eyes as he came with a strangled moan.  His hips stuttered.  His whole body convulsed.  All through his orgasm, their gazes remained locked upon one another.

"Beautiful," Harvey whispered, almost reverently.  He kissed Mike, starting rough, and ending gentle, and then braced his hands once more on the headboard.  "Hold on, baby."

He fucked Mike hard, riding him with enough force to knock the bed against the wall in a sharp, nasty rhythm that Mike could feel deep in his chest.  He studied Harvey's face, the tic in his tight jaw, the vein that pulsed in his temple, the way his nostrils flared.  And when Harvey tensed, and froze, deep inside of Mike, he bared his teeth in a savage growl, threw his head back and plunged one more time, deeper still, and held there, arms wrapped around Mike, squeezing tight, his damp forehead pressed to Mike's shoulder, his whole body shaking as he groaned out his pleasure.

He grew still eventually, and quiet, except for his labored breathing.  Mike unclenched his legs and let them drop to the mattress.  He ran his hands lazily up and down Harvey's damp back, just enjoying the closeness, and the skin on skin contact.  Harvey was still inside him, and he would have gladly kept him there forever.  Finally, though, Harvey heaved a long sigh, lifted off of him and pulled out.  Mike watched his retreating back as he headed for the bathroom, and then directed his gaze to the ceiling.

He felt ... both shattered, and reassembled in a new and better way.  He gave a low grunt of laughter.  He hadn’t had such weird thoughts since the last time he got high.  This, though, was so much better.

“What’s funny?”  Harvey tossed him a hand towel so he could clean himself up.

“Nothing.  I’m just … nothing.”

Harvey gave him a quizzical look, but didn’t press for an explanation.  And how could Mike have explained what he was feeling, without sounding like a sappy lovesick idiot?  He’d only end up scaring Harvey off, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Moments later, Harvey crawled into bed behind him, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his face to his back.  He kissed Mike’s shoulder blade and let out a slow breath that whispered across Mike’s damp flesh and made him shiver.  Harvey didn’t make any declarations, but he held Mike close all night long, which felt like an admission of sorts.

 

******

 

"Holy shit, Harvey."

Mike's eyes were wide as they took their seats three rows back from the field, right behind the Yankees' dugout.  The only thing that would have made Harvey feel more smug at Mike's reaction, was if the tickets were actually his, and not Tony Giannopoulous'.

"They're adequate, I suppose."  Harvey lounged back in his seat and cracked open a peanut shell.  "I might have preferred the other side of the field, where we could see into the home team's dugout, but ..."

Mike gave a disbelieving laugh.  "You're seriously going to complain that these awesome seats are a hair less than the very best?"

Harvey didn't say anything in reply.  He held out the bag of peanuts to Mike, and watched him grab a handful and begin scarfing them down like a kid, scattering the shells at their feet, and reminding Harvey of a hyperactive squirrel.

"Careful you don't choke," he chided.

Mike coughed, swallowed loudly, and gulped down some beer.  "I'm just so stoked, and I don't care who knows it.  Maybe you don't fully comprehend what a treat this is for me."

Harvey hadn't, but he was beginning to.  "Have you been to a game before?"

Mike kept his eyes on the field, where the players were beginning their warm-up.  "Sure."

"How many?"

Mike's sigh was barely audible.  "Two.  My dad took me to one the year before he died.  We sat somewhere up there."  He pointed to the nosebleed section behind right field.  "Then one time, after I got expelled from Columbia, Trevor took me to a game, probably as some kind of lame ass apology.  Center field, about ten rows back."

A jolt of sympathy zinged somewhere in the vicinity of Harvey's heart.  He wanted to promise Mike he'd get them season's tickets, and they could go to every game together from now on.  He knew how that would sound – as if he pitied Mike.  Which, okay, maybe he did a little, but Mike didn't need to know that.  Besides, with their schedules, season's tickets weren't practical.  

And then he realized that he'd begun thinking in terms of a definite, long term future together, without going into a panic.  He eyed Mike surreptitiously, observing his frank, childlike enjoyment of seeing the players close up.

"Hey."  Harvey nudged him with his elbow.  "Quit checking out A-Rod's ass."

"Pfft.  Like you weren't."

"I was only wondering how many seasons he has left in him."

Mike cocked an eyebrow at him, and picked up Harvey's binoculars to focus in for a closer look.

Harvey waited until Mike was done ogling before bringing up the subject he’d been mulling over for the past few days.  “Tell me more about this future business of yours.”

“Ah.  Well, it looks like it’s at least three years away from becoming a reality.  And that’s not even factoring in inflation, a possible rent increase, and my ability to juggle three jobs without burning out and/or losing my damned mind.”

“Have you looked into crowd sourcing your start-up costs?”

Mike gave him a sour look.  “I set up a GoFundMe account last year, and made exactly ten dollars in two months.”

“The trick to those things is marketing.  You need to get the word out on a massive scale.”

“I know.  My eight Facebook friends and twelve Twitter followers didn’t quite fit the bill.  Trouble is, I don’t know anybody.”

“You know me.”

“Whoa.  If you’re about to offer me money …”

Harvey held up his hand to halt Mike’s words.  He knew better than that.  Mike was not looking for a sugar daddy.  “What I’m offering is my name, and access to my firm’s clients.  They’re always looking for worthy places to spend their charity dollars.”  He waited, watching as Mike considered the offer.

“Yeah, okay.  That would be really great, actually.”  Mike gave him a guarded smile.  “Thanks, Harvey.”

“Now, there is one other problem, as I see it.  You get the money you need to get started, but how do you continue into the future?  Have you given any thought to possible revenue streams to keep your business operational?”

Mike’s face took on a smug look.  “In fact, I have.  My clients will need jobs, and there are plenty of businesses looking to get the tax benefits which come from hiring ex-cons.  So, part of my business would be an employment service, paid for by potential employers.”

Harvey nodded slowly.  “That could work.”

“And I’m still holding out hope for government grants.”

“Good luck with that.”

“I know.  In all likelihood, fundraising will be an ongoing process.”

“You could hold benefits.  Auctions.  Offer incentives to large businesses, such as publicly acknowledging donations exceeding a target dollar amount.  They love that kind of PR.”

“That’s great, Harvey.  Thanks for the advice.”  Mike was grinning, and nodding excitedly.  “I may just get this business off the ground after all.”

“Of course you – ”  Harvey broke off as one of the players’ practice hits went foul just to his left.

“You should have gone for it,” Mike teased.  “Damn.  We should have brought gloves.”

 

They joked and talked until the game started, and it all felt so easy and natural.  Had it ever been this easy with Matthew?  Harvey had only gotten him to one game in ten years, and then Matthew had dragged him out of there after only four innings, claiming that he was bored, and would rather do almost anything than watch a bunch of overpaid steroid junkies play a kid's game.

Mike enjoyed every bit of it, from the cheesy announcements and music that got the crowd going when things slowed down, to the food and drink vendors that roamed the stands, to the Kiss Cam, the action in the pitchers' bullpen, and the glossy program that Harvey had bought for him.  The Yankees were playing the Orioles today, and after one glance through the program, Mike had every player number and statistic memorized.

"How'd you do that?" Harvey finally asked, when Mike correctly guessed that the Orioles would pull their starting pitcher and replace him with a left-hander.

"This guy pretty much owns all of their right-handers, and he can't hit the lefties.  With two on, and only up by one, the O's can't risk a hit."

"How do you know all that?"

"It's all in their numbers.  Baseball is a game of statistics and matchups."  Mike bumped his shoulder against Harvey's.  "But look who I'm lecturing about baseball."

"I know the theory, sure.  But how could you know the details of a player who's been with them less than half a season?"

"I read the program."

"Uh huh."

Mike blushed, mouth crimped in at the edges.  "It's not a big deal.  I remember things.  Numbers, and details, and ... well, everything, actually."

Harvey nodded slowly, more impressed that he cared to admit.  "Like a photographic memory?"

"Sort of.  The term is actually 'eidetic,' but, whatever."

Harvey kept staring at the side of Mike's face, until it became clear that Mike was uncomfortable talking about it, and didn't care to say anymore on the subject.  Harvey turned back to the field.  "So, basically, my boyfriend has a superpower.  Cool."

Mike choked on his beer.  "Your what, now?"

Harvey replayed his own words back in his head.  He'd just called Mike his boyfriend.  And he wasn't hating the idea.  "Yeah, I said it.  You got a problem with that?"

Shaking his head, Mike suddenly appeared acutely interested in the shouting match on the field between the Oriole manager and the third base umpire. 

 

The seventh-inning stretch came and went, with both Harvey and Mike singing along.  Mike had a nice tenor voice, a little off-key in certain places, but attractive nonetheless.  The Yankees were ahead by three runs, and Harvey was toying with the (admittedly traitorous) idea of suggesting they take off early. 

June was dog sitting a still recuperating Chupie.  He’d almost hated to ask her again tonight, since she had agreed to spend most of Tuesday through Thursday with her, along with today, so that Harvey could go to the office.  June was great with the dog, but she probably wouldn’t object to getting set loose a little earlier than expected tonight. 

Almost as big a factor was that sitting butt cheek to butt cheek with Mike all night was turning into a subtle form of torture.  Harvey was more than ready to get him home, and into his bed – or wherever.

The Yankees scored twice more in the bottom of the seventh, cementing Harvey's decision.  He reached for Mike's hand, not caring who saw him.  "Hey, I don't suppose you want to get out of here?"

Mike yawned, reminding Harvey that they'd both been up early.

"Sure.  I – "  Mike broke off and pointed up at the Jumbotron, grinning hugely.  "Wait.  They're doing the Kiss Cam again.  I want to see this first."

Harvey made a noise that was half grumble, half laugh.  An animation heart surrounded the center of the screen as the camera panned through the seats, and panned some more – and landed right on Harvey and Mike.  Harvey was still holding Mike's hand, making it clear they were a couple.  The crowd erupted in applause and shouts of encouragement. 

"This is a nightmare," groaned Harvey through gritted teeth.  If he kissed Mike here, the footage would undoubtedly end up on the local news, and perhaps even _Sportscenter_.  Two guys kissing at a ballgame was still a relatively rare sight, and evidently newsworthy.

Mike turned to face him, placing a hand on his shoulder.  "Don't be a spoilsport.  Let's show them how it's done."

“What if your boss sees us?” Harvey whispered urgently.

Mike’s eyes widened, but he gave his head a shake.  “Between you and my job?  I pick you.”

Harvey hesitated a couple of seconds longer.  Even though his head knew that logically, it wasn’t true, his heart felt that if he put on this public exhibition, he would have crossed the imaginary Relationship line, and there would be no turning back.  Mike’s happy, expectant grin began to slip, and a couple of good-natured catcalls and chicken clucks sounded behind them.  Harvey breathed in, and breathed out, and held Mike’s face in both hands as he leaned in and kissed his boyfriend in front of the crowed, and the Yankees, and the Orioles, and the Jumbotron, and God, and everyone.

It felt right, and perfect, and the last of his doubts and reservations dissolved to the roar of fifty thousand people cheering and applauding.  The moment was highly intimate, and outrageously, ridiculously, public at the same time.  Everything faded away except the reality of Mike’s face between his hands, and the feel of his mouth and tongue.

When they finally broke apart, the crowd noise crashed back in like an avalanche.

The announcer’s voice bounced around the stadium.  “I hope you folks were all taking notes, because these two handsome gentlemen have just schooled you in the art of the kiss.”

Harvey was ready to drag Mike out of there right then, but Mike placed a restraining hand on his arm.  “At least wait until the next inning starts.  Otherwise, everyone will know exactly why we’re leaving.”

“Who cares what they think?”  Harvey lowered his voice so that only Mike would hear him.  “I need to get you home.  Now.  Are you my boyfriend, or aren’t you?”

Mike gazed at him with wide, blue eyes, and then his smile stretched all the way across his face.  “Let’s go, then.”

 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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